Help Desk Hell
by Paul R. Kiesel

Help! This technology review began as a product review of Palm’s new i705. The i705 debuted on Monday, January 29, 2002 with little fanfare but great expectations. On Thursday, January 31 my new i705 arrived, and, as always, I experienced the usual excitement over the newest toy. However, on the way to the keyboard to begin reviewing this device, I got sidetracked by the Palm "help" desk. My experience compelled me to put aside the i705 (don't fear - the review will appear in the next few weeks) to focus on one of those pet peeves I suspect we all share. The so-called "help” desk.

Whether it's a new video tape recorder, computer or piece of software, we've all dialed the customer service support center, often referred to as the help desk or, for those who live and die by acronyms, the “HD.” I dial Palm’s HD number and am greeted by a computer voice mail reciting options that go like this: “If you are calling about the Palm software applications, press one. If you are calling about the Palm hot sync function, press two. If you are calling about the Palm 100, press three. If you are calling about the Palm three, press four (Now there's a confusing one). If you are calling about the Palm five, press four.” By now you're tiring of the options, wondering if there will ever be a prompt for the i705. “For the Palm seven series, press six.” Finally, I think, that MUST be the ticket. I press six.

Within three seconds a cordial voice answers. "Hi, this is Troy. How can I assist you?" "Hi, Troy," I say, “I'm having a problem configuring my new Palm i705; I was hoping you could assist me." "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry," replies Troy. "You selected the wrong prompt; this is for the Palm seven series. You need to select the Palm i705." "Well can’t you help me?" I beg the HDT (that's “help desk technician,” for the uninitiated). "Wish I could, but I haven't been trained yet on the i705. It just came out," Troy responds. “That’s helpful,” I think to myself. "Ok," I say aloud. "Can you transfer me to that department." "Sorry," replies Troy, “I don't know that extension. You’ll have to call back and select the correct prompt from the voice mail menu."

What choice did I have? I call back. Now my type-A personality takes over. Without listening to the whole menu, I press seven. It makes sense, right, Palm i705, press seven? I sit back and cross my fingers. "Hi, this is Angie. May I have your first name." "Hi, Angie. This is Paul." “Hi, Paul. How can I HELP you?”
“I'm having a problem configuring my new Palm i705; can you help?" "Wish I could, Paul. That's the new internet-connected Palm device, right?" I'm thinking, “she's asking me?” This is NOT a good sign. "Um, yes, it is."

"Sorry" (I'm getting REALLY tired of that word) “but I only deal with the Palm net mail application features. You need the i705 help desk." "Ok,” I say, trying to restrain my mounting annoyance. “Can you please transfer me?" "Sorry, Paul," says Angie, “but I'm in Denver, and that help desk is in Portland. You’ll have to call back."

So here I am, twenty minutes later, and I haven't even gotten to the right Help Desk. I call back. Recalling that "patience is a virtue" (though Benjamin Franklin actually said "patience is a virtue...not easily acquired."), I wait through NINE options to hear "For the Palm i705, press nine." I do.

We’ve all experienced two types of "hold." In the first, a recording informs you "your call will be answered in the order it was received. Your expected wait time is less than five minutes." Ok, that I can handle. Or, if you call American Express Travel when things are busy, the voice might say "your expected wait is greater than 45 minutes. You might wish to try your call again later." You bet.

And then there's the PALM Help Desk hold . . . MUZAK. Just MUZUAK. No voice, no nothing. Quite frankly, I’ve no idea if there's even anyone in the Portland office waiting to take my call. Ten minutes go by, nothing. Ten more minutes, still nada. After thirty minutes, I start the discussion with myself. Alright, I've been holding for thirty minutes; how much longer will I wait for someone to respond to my question? But I’ve been waiting for so long, how much longer could it be?

After forty minutes, the urge to use the bathroom overwhelms me. Now what? I have a hold button at my house, so I could fight fire with fire. I could put my phone on hold and hope that if the HDT picks-up while I'm gone, she will listen to MY hold music and wait for me to return. But the pessimist in me doesn't want to take the chance that the HDT will disconnect me, and I’ll have to start over from the beginning.

What are the odds? Tempting fate, I hit “hands free” and turn the volume up as loud as it will go. What used to be the Beatles’ "Let It Be" blares from the phone loud enough that the dog flees from the library. I keep one ear on the phone and one eye on the toilet, praying the call isn’t answered at an inopportune moment. As it tuns out, I needn’t have worried. Twenty minutes later, I'm still on hold. An hour has passed -- a rite of passage for help desk veterans. Like the marathon runner at mile 23, I’m going to see this thing through to the end.

"Paul," comes my wife’s voice from upstairs, "Come kiss the kids goodnight." Dana's request plunges me into a dilemma. Do I shout goodnight from downstairs, proving what my wife has long contended -- that I care more about my toys than my children, or do I sacrifice an hour of my life by disconnecting the call? My mother didn't raise a dummy. I had a plan. I would put the call on hold, run upstairs, hit the hands free feature on my daughter Lauren’s phone, kiss her good night, leap into Joshua's room, perform the same "call forwarding" function, and run back downstairs, all with only ten to fifteen seconds of risk that the HDT would pick up and disconnect my call.

Two minutes later, winded but having proven that my priorities are correct, I’ve settled back into the library. Barry Manilow’s “Mandy” blares from the phone. An hour and fifteen minutes. The adrenaline kicks in -- I'm not going to put up with this any longer. I'll count to 60. If they don't pick, I’m going to hang up. One, two, three...fifty nine, sixty...pull the trigger, Paul. Hang up...come on. Hang up. But, of course, I can't. My fingers are frozen. The brain says terminate. The fingers rebel. I try something else. When the call timer hits one hour seventeen minutes, then I'll hang up.

But, of course, I KNOW that just as I hang up, the HDT will pick up the call. One hour seventeen comes and goes. I wonder when the misery will end. Did I mention that the Palm help desk is not a toll free call? Not only am I trapped in hold hell, I'm paying for the privilege! Finally, and with extraordinary courage, I pledge if the call is not picked up after an hour and twenty minutes, I WILL HANG UP. As the timer hit 1:20, I did it!

Dragging myself upstairs, my wife asks “So, did they solve your problem?" Fair question. "No. They never picked up the (you supply the word) phone. I hung up." Dana's look said it all. But what can you do? You're trapped. Do you hang up after five minutes? Ten? Do you go to sleep with the phone cradled in your hand, pressed against your head, waiting for the call to be answered? I welcome your thoughts, experiences and techniques. Just call me at 310-854-4444, press extension 200, option two, hit the pound button, and I'll be along to answer .... eventually.