No sale

Dear [company which shall remain nameless or you’ll probably sue me],

Thank you so much for assisting me in deciding which email marketing software solution to recommend my company spends thousands of dollars on this year. Let me give you the tip: it’s not you.

When you were highly recommended to me by a reputable source, I dutifully put my (completed) purchase submission to senior management on hold to factor in your product, fully expecting that my experience with you would be one of untold delight and that your program’s offerings would deftly annihilate the competition.

My main task was to complete your (freshly created) column in a comparative table. The data to be entered was simple tick or cross (yes, you did have a fabulous tropical neon blue wigwam for a goose’s bridle or no you didn’t).

My first port of call was your website. After groping and stumbling around your site for more than thirty frustrating and fruitless minutes, I decided that effective communication was not your forté (this was somewhat alarming given your field of alleged expertise) – in fact, effective communication was not in your repertoire, your wardrobe, your office or even on your freaking planet.

Nevertheless, the recommendation stood. So, I clicked on a promising looking ‘live chat’ button. After all, you were local and I had ‘live chatted’ with one of your United States based competitors earlier in the day, so I knew how quickly this functionality could clear up any lingering questions and niggling doubts. (However, as I had completed only three of the twelve ‘features’ fields in my table, the lingering questions were considerable and the doubts were growing at the rate of Otto the fish.)

I obediently entered my name and company, my email address, my phone number, the names of my children, the number of times I have ever been to church and my shoe size, then expectantly clicked ‘submit’. Promising loading-type imagery ensued before your message appeared: ‘Everybody’s on a break and no bastard wants to give up their Monte Carlo and Tetley’s to talk with you – call us after morning tea’ (or words to that effect).

(The Otto-sized doubts would soon need an enormous saucepan to contain them.)

That original recommendation must have been really good – or I must be incredibly dogged, because after venting profusely all over the handy junior (think gallons of black slime with poisonous worms), I phoned the number you conveniently provided on the ‘f*** off’ screen of your failed live chat.

Steve or Sam or possibly Scott answered on the first ring. He not only sounded remarkably like a human being, he also seemed charming, friendly, intelligent and as if he might actually be able to be of some assistance. Clearly, first impressions can be deceiving. Steve/Sam/Scott was actually a complete moron in disguise.

(Soon Otto would need a bathtub.)

S/S/S informed me that I should have called the sales number in Sydney (silly me!) and rather than patch me through or have one of his sales colleagues call me back, he helpfully trotted out the sales number and I conscientiously jotted it down. ‘Ask for Chris or Luke’ he said.

Now, I have established that I am persistent and resilient in the face of adversity. I am not, however, a doormat, floor mat or any other type of rug, runner or carpet. Let me be very clear. At this point, I would have delivered all my company’s marketing communications via carrier pigeon before allowing the firm to purchase your product.

However, curiosity won me over. I dialled the number, played receptionist roulette and scored Luke.

From the outset, Luke’s demeanor struck me as lurking somewhere between puzzled and bewildered. When he needed to ask his colleague the answer to every second question, I realised he was leaning more towards retarded.

(Make that a swimming pool for Otto.)

His eventual response to one of the questions (that he didn’t know the answer to) really capped off the conversation. It went something like this:

Me: ‘So, can I send video using your email software?’

Luke: ‘Just hang on again…’ (Whisper with colleague in background – what? You guys don’t have mute buttons or hold muzak?) ‘It’s not best practice to send video by email.’

Are you seriously telling me how to market my company???

Me: ’Is that a “no”?’

Luke: ‘That’s right.’

Once I uncurled my hands from white-knuckled fists, wiped the blood from my nail-gouged palms and regained the ability breathe, I followed up with one last question. The biggie. That’s right: price.

‘Certainly, we can provide you with a price,’ said the ever-accommodating Luke. ‘I just need to shoot through a questionnaire by email. If you can complete it, we can look over your needs and expected use and one of our team will contact you to discuss your requirements and negotiate a price.’

Through gritted teeth, I told Luke the details of our expected usage and suggested that even a ballpark figure would assist in the timely completion of my report. My cursor blinked expectantly in the bottom right hand field of my table.

‘No problem,’ said Luke (and I breathed a – premature, as it happens – sigh of relief), ‘I just need to shoot through a questionnaire by email. If you can complete it, we can look over your needs and…’

So, dear [company which shall remain nameless], Luke’s email is foundering unopened in my ‘Deleted items’ folder and the proposal I submitted to senior management was somewhat scathing about your email marketing...er... – I was going to write ‘solution’ but I think ‘quagmire’ might be a better word.

Not yours (not ever, not even close),
The Monstress

Image: Salvatore Vuono