One of the great oxymorons in our language is 'customer service.'At least it is if you think it means that you, as a customer, might get some service. Lately, it seems to fit more with the definition of service used by a cattle farming friend of mine. He talks about having his bull service his cows. As customers, we seem to be getting that kind of servicing more often than the sort we might hope for or expect.

It's certainly been the case with the wireless telephone company I have been dealing with (and will soon no longer be dealing with.) Their customer service is the main reason I will be switching to another supplier. After trying to deal with them on a number of occasions, and looking at the bill I get from them each month, I really think I am being serviced in the cattle sense of the word.

I called them a couple of months ago. As with so many companies lately, the customer service number is now being answered by a talking computer with a snotty attitude. It's enough to make you think the premise behind those Terminator movies might have been right.

These talking computers are used for one of two purposes. Naturally, they cut the cost of operations. That leaves more money for bonuses for the senior executives. More importantly, they are put in place for the simple purpose of frustrating any customer silly enough to call in for customer service. After a couple of minutes you either hang up, or forget why you called in the first place. It saves the company from having to solve any problem you might be having.

I'm convinced that my wireless provider hired Hal, the computer from 2001: ASpace Odyssey. It did such a good job messing with Dave's mind, that it would be the perfect candidate.

When I called, the disembodied voice asked for my account information. It would be fine if it stopped there, but like some three-year-old who picked up a telephone, it wants to know why you called.

"I want to talk to customer service," I said.

"I didn't quite catch that, I think you said you wanted to speak to technical support. Is that correct? Just say 'yes' or 'no'."

"No." "OK, what do you need technical support for? Is your wireless telephone, home phone, television service, or internet?"

After I several excruciating minutes of this I said, "Just open the freaking pod bay doors, Hal."

"I didn't quite catch that. I think you said you were calling about your internet. Is that correct?"

I remembered that you could sometimes bypass these talking computers by pushing zero. When I did that, good old Hal came back and said, "Before I pass you to an agent, I just have a few more questions."

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

He seemed to get that message. I was put on hold for the next available operator. Eighteen minutes later, 'the next available operator' reluctantly answered the phone.

This morning I got an email telling me that my current bill was available to be viewed on the internet. It also said "We're pleased to announce that we've made some exciting improvements to our online billing service to make it easier, faster, and more convenient for you to use."

I signed onto their website, and clicked the button to see my bill. It took me to a webpage that was blank, except for the message, "Microsoft VBScript compilation error ''800a0411'' Name redefined /Customercare/ OnlineBilling/xtOnlineBillingConstants.asp, line 6 const LOGTO_FILE = false should be set to false on production."

Somehow that just didn't feel exciting, easier, faster, or more convenient. To avoid talking to the computer again, I sent them an email about the problem.

Their reply said I should call their online service department to have them troubleshoot the problem. Clearly, the problem is at their end of the connection, and the person who wrote the reply could have spoken to the online service department, especially since she signed the email, "Vanessa S., Online Customer Service." She just wanted me to talk to Hal again.

It helped me make my decision. I'm switching providers, and this one can, in the cattle farmer's terminology, go service themselves.

©2007, Gordon Kirkland