July 27th, 2005
Why Friends Don’t Let Friends Use AOL
When I got my spiffy new laptop backalong, it came with a three-month free trial of AOL. Now I’ll confess, I knew I hated AOL. I’m not sure how I knew, but I did. Nevertheless, I was going to be doing some traveling, and so I signed up for the three-month trial since it would be convenient to use while on the road.
And oh did I love to hate AOL. I hated whatever they call their software that they pretend is a browser. I hated their hand-holding and spoonfeeding (or is it forcefeeding?) of content. I hated their stupid cutesy little icons. I hated how it talked to me—in a man’s voice, no less. (I’m hoping AOL v.LesbianSeparatist is in development.) I hated how I got one zillion pop-ups per minute offering me a variety of “AOL Premium Services” mainly by trying to scare me with all the ways surfing the internet could do my computer in. I was so relieved when I finally got settled and found a sweet low-key local provider that just gives me simple access. That’s all I want, access. I don’t want spyware protection or virus detectors or super firewall add-ons—my laptop already has all that, that’s why I bought it. I certainly don’t want to be nickel and dimed by AOL every month, for $5 here for this service, $3.95 there for that service, on top of whatever ungodly monthly fee they charge just for dial-up access.
I’ve been putting it off, but now that my three-month AOL free trial is about to expire, I had to take a deep breath, don my mental foundation undergarment, and call their 800 number to cancel. It’s a huge corporation, so you might think that they would hire actual humans to answer the phone. But no, they don’t. It’s one of those voice-recognition systems, voiced by the woman who sounds like she has a whole can of fruit cocktail in heavy syrup in her mouth. I truly hate AOL, but I hate those voice recognition systems even more. Corporations want you to talk to it like it’s a person, but it’s not a person, and I’m fully aware that it’s not a person even though it says things like “Oops, my mistake!” when it doesn’t understand what you’ve said—which is everything you’ve said if what you say is the least bit out of the ordinary, or if you have a slight lisp, as I do. But by enunciating enough to strain the muscles in my jaw, I finally provided the information FruitNSyrupBot was looking for, and it forwarded me to a “consultant.”
My consultant is Ron. Ron and I must have been bitter enemies in a past life, because our mutual animosity is apparent almost from the beginning of our interaction. Ron asks me why I wish to cancel my AOL account. Is it because I have gone to a high-speed or DSL connection? I anticipate where Ron’s going with this—he wants to offer me said services via AOL, but I am too smart for him. I tell him no, it’s because I don’t like AOL’s content and I’ve found a local dial-up provider I’m happy with, so I want to cancel my account. Ron says, “I understand that you are unhappy with AOL’s content and you’ve found a dial-up provider you are happy with, but did you know that AOL has services like spyware protection, virus protection, parental controls, multiple email addresses, and it chops, slices, and dices, all in one?” Trying to stay calm—because I see where this is going—I tell Ron that I’m convinced AOL is just fantastic and I’d like to cancel my account. Ron says, “I understand that you’d like to cancel your account, but did you know—“ I really feel like strangling Ron. I breathe deeply again, flex my shoulders, and remind myself that people I’ve known and loved have worked in call centers. I tell myself that Ron probably gets some kind of bonus depending on how many would-be escapees dupes eager customers he can retain through his highly polished sales technique and working the AOL-issued laminated card pack titled “How to Bedazzle the Internet Consumer with Repetitive Glib Bullshit and False Promises.” I say to Ron, “I’m sorry, I know they are putting a lot of pressure on you there, but I really just want to cancel my account.” Ron says, “Because you’ve been such a loyal AOL customer, I will extend your free trial period for two more months. Your trial period will now expire on—“ “Ron,” I say, “Will my account be canceled at the end of the extra two months?” Ron says sullenly, “Well, if you don’t like the service, you can call back then and cancel it.” I am not sure if he wants another crack at me later, or if he’s trying to saddle one of his coworkers two months hence with the losing proposition that is me, but I lose patience with Ron. “Ron,” I nearly shout, “I don’t want to call back. I want my account canceled. I tried the service, I don’t like it, and I want the account canceled.” And Ron finally capitulates, but not without a parting shot of irony: “Thank you for choosing AOL.”
Total phone time, including interfacing with FruitNSyrupBot: Twenty minutes. Twenty precious minutes of my life that I can never get back. And an incalculable cost in stress to my cardiovascular and endocrine systems. So to all the AOL high mucky-muck corporate execs that I’m sure read this humble blog—stop making your call center employees act like assholes. If someone wants to cancel their account, let them, and don’t make it hurt your employees’ bottom line. And if you really want to succeed in the admittedly incredibly competitive internet service market, geez, get a better product already. Not everybody wants to stare at little hearts on their browser screen. Not everybody wants to see today’s body-count-in-Iraq headline first thing in the morning. Not everybody wants hard-sell in-your-face pushy obnoxious redundant service offers when she’s just trying to read her webmail. If you had something real to offer, instead of packaged media hype like every other site, constant attempts to squeeze us for every last buck, and canned manipulative harangues from the likes of Ron when we try to break free, maybe we’d stick around.
But then again, if I had Richard Parsons’ credit card number, I might not give up so easily either.
