Laying Out One of the Great Lies

Alexander Graham Bell bequeathed to future generations an instrument that quickly evolved from miracle to necessity.

Unconsciously or deliberately, too many business users of Bell's invention (and its electronic descendants) have gradually changed its image from informational necessity to partner in duplicity, annoyance, frustration and contempt.

In fact, two of the three Great Lies of our time are tied to the telephone…or, rather, to duplicitous, annoying, frustrating, and contemptible phone abuser-users. I know I don't have to remind you of those two Great Lies, but because this acknowledgment may be rediscovered in the year 3006 by anthropologists who may wonder that they still exist, I'll record them here.

Great Lie Number One: “This is not a sales call.”

We've learned from politicians that if nailed to a wall, the originator of that insidious statement might claim, “It depends on what you mean by a sales call.” Aw, we know what we mean, and we know what you mean — it's a sales call.

That Great Lie isn't as damaging as the second Great Lie, because we've developed the Pavlovian reaction: We hang up. Logic is on our side. If it really isn't a sales call, the caller wouldn't start the conversation with “This is not a sales call.” Simple logic, for everybody but troglodytic telemarketers reading from a script that in our warp-speed century might as well have been copied from the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Great Lie Number Two may not be duplicitous, although that's the effect. It certainly is annoying, frustrating and contemptible: “Your call is important to us.”

That second Great Lie thrust home twice on the same day. Translation: The second Great Lie tied up a phone line for about half a day. That in itself wasn't a big deal. What was both annoying, frustrating and contemptible was that neither one of those declarations of importance culminated in a live connection.

One was unexpected: I popped into my Jaguar convertible, anticipating a pleasant drive to somewhere. Uh-oh: On the little screen flashed the image of an engine. What does that mean? The owner's manual was absolute: Stop the car and call for service.

I called on my cell phone. The dealer's service department told me my call was important. Then blank, except for promotional messages. After about fourteen minutes it became quite clear my call wasn't so important. I called back and asked to speak with anybody. Ha! A live voice. I explained that the car had only about 2,300 miles on the odometer, but staring at me was this icon of an engine. “You'll have to speak with the service department. Hold on.” Before I could even belch out a “But…” I was back in important call purgatory. I called again and asked that somebody from the service department call me back. Nobody did.

Enough already. I called Jaguar's national toll-free number. Somebody at wherever that toll-free number rang actually did cause me to think my call was important, because he told me to sit tight and they'd send a truck to flat-bed the car to the dealer.

Ha! Four hours later, long after the car was on its way, a call from the service department: “Why don't you drive the car in?” Hey, Buster, your owner's manual says to shut down the engine.

In three words: Scratch that relationship.

The other episode involved our expensive Italian-made dishwasher, which just quit running. We called both the local and the national numbers, each of which burbled out the “Your call is important to us” mindless mantra. Eventually a private plumber fixed the problem in 10 minutes. Two days later, somebody at the dealer called back to apologize: “Our lines were really jammed up.” Well, buddy, they're going to be less jammed because…

In three words: Scratch that relationship.

I'd add as the Third Great Lie the tired cliché so many telemarketers still croak out to begin their pitch — “How are you today?” — except that thanks to the rules of rhetoric, only a tortuous twisting can turn a question into a lie.

OK, let's assume these episodes and the thousands of parallels we experience every day are inadvertent examples of what my son and sometime co-author Bob and I recognize as Customer Elimination Management. Let's also assume these marketers don't realize what damage to both image and future business they're inflicting by either understaffing their customer service departments or staffing them with don't-care androids who are constantly on coffee breaks. What follows?

You know the answer to that primitive question: Customers either go elsewhere or, in keeping with the Direct Response Curse inflicted on us by peripheral operators, damn our entire universe. The tar drips onto all of us while the perpetrators blithely continue to un-man their phones.

How big a deal is it to make a straightforward, self-identifying call? And what could be more simple and logical for a business enterprise than answering the phone by the third ring?

Oh, there's my damn phone ringing again, while I'm trying to write and think and enjoy a comic book. Whoever it is has a lot of nerve, calling during the business day. Oh well, why worry? Let it ring. They'll call back, won't they, especially after hearing my recorded voice murmuring gently and sincerely, “Your call is important to us.”

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HERSCHELL GORDON LEWIS (www.herschellgordonlewis.com) is the principal of Lewis Enterprises in Fort Lauderdale, FL. He consults with and writes direct response copy for clients worldwide. His 29th book, “Open Me Now,” was published last year. “Burnt Offerings,” scheduled for fall publication, will explore direct response fundraising. Among his other books are “Asinine Advertising,” “On the Art of Writing Copy” (third edition), “Marketing Mayhem” and “Effective E-mail Marketing.”