The National Service Center
I suppose that many of you haven’t dealt with the National Service Center.
I have, but that’s because I was naive enough to ask a question that should have stayed unasked. The depressing part is that's probably not the last time I make that mistake.
You have probably never heard of the NSC, as it involves snail-mail, something of which most of you have probably heard of but never actually used. If that is the case, you can just stop reading right now and play a video game or bang your goddam head against the wall or do whatever the hell it is you do. This will make no sense to you and I don't want to answer or even see dumbass replies innocently asking why I'm so upset. I don't wanna even see them, okay? Just the IDEA of you people is pissing me off.
Man, I am waiting for the day when one of you comes across a stamp and literally does not know what the hell it is. On that day, I am postive that America is doomed and the morons have officially taken over.
Technically, the NSC is not an example of new gadgetry. The gadgetry it uses has been around for some time, except for the computer. However, it IS an example of obstensibly 'improving' something that is not broken with something that was busted to begin with, something which never fails to annoy The Luddite. He hopes--well, suspects--that he is not alone.I imagine that the National Service Center was the brainchild of someone who got tired of answering the same question for the umpteenth time.
For those of you who don’t know, the National Service Center has been set up nationwide to take advantage of technology when confronted with common questions, such as “Yeah. Uh, can you tell me what my state capitol is? I uh…forgot.” Yeah, sure. You know damn well anyone who asks a question that way is settling a bar bet.
The NSC is what you get when you call the Department of Labor, or the Department of the Interior or the Post Office or the Pony Express or whatever. Sometimes you can get around it, such as when you call someone in the basement at the Census Bureau who is so happy to hear from another human being that he does everything but offer to cook dinner for you at his home, but it’s not easy. I think the original purpose was to consolidate information requests through one clearinghouse and to get people with annoying questions to go away. It does the latter task beautifully.
When you have a question about something that isn’t on the phone menu at the National Service Center, you are fucked. Seriously. You get this feeling of being in one of life’s horrible moments, like finding your child floating facedown in the swimming pool and not knowing CPR. You can’t get anyone to help and you don’t know what to do next.
The first time I ran into the National Service Center was a few years ago, when I tried to call the Post Office. I got two conflicting rates for a Christmas package, so I tried to call the bulk mail center at my local post office to clear the whole thing up. I got the National Service Center instead.
This happened in 1999, I think. The National Service Center was still getting its legs underneath it and you could get a human being to talk to. I got a guy who not only couldn’t answer my question, but also refused to connect me with his superior or even tell me where he was. (He’s probably working for GE right now in their unhelpful customer service department.) I called back after hanging up on the nervous guy and got a very helpful woman from Denver who looked on her computer screen and promptly gave me the wrong rate information (I know this because it sounded weird and because of what I subsequently did) and told me that all calls to the Post Office would now be going through the National Service Center. This is like telling Alice that she’ll be only be going on a little trip down that rabbit hole.
I said thank you and called a post office in a small town that is now southwest of me. I called them because I suspected the rate the very helpful woman had given me was wrong and because I knew that this post office was small enough to escape notice by the NSC. I got a very nice man on the phone who gave me the correct rate, tout suite. I know it was the correct rate because I drove out there to mail my package. He took it away and mailed it without correcting anything. I didn’t have to wait in line; I didn’t have to answer a bunch of questions; I just mailed the box, which is what I wanted to do before I had the misfortune of dealing with the National Service Center.
Well, what the hell. It was just getting started, right? Unfortunately, this was not the extent of my dealings with the goddamn National Service Center. The second time I dealt with it involved a change-of-address and believe it or not, is too long to go into and amazes me to this fucking day. The third time, I was living in a condominium and wanted to report a broken door on a parcel delivery box. I tried to call the a nearby station but forgot about the NSC. I got them instead. I cursed because I knew a human being wasn’t going to be on the other end for some time. I wasn’t prepared for the fact that I never GOT a human being. I was on the phone for 18 minutes, trying to push the right buttons.
(I am not vindictive and I don’t know who invented phone tree technology, but I hope their kids get beaten up on the way home from school right after they tell their classmates what Daddy does for a living. Here’s a useful message: People who use telephones don’t wanna get phone trees or machines of any kind on the other end. They hate them. They’re busy too. That’s why they use the phone instead of coming over. Getting a machine is like being told--very nicely--to go pound sand.)
I can just imagine the poor swine that actually have to answer zip code requests every day. They would actually welcome a broken door report just for the variety. The National Service Center is probably a godsend for them. However, they don’t get to call the NSC; we do. The NSC is probably great when you ask about addresses or zip codes or hours, or that kind of thing. But the NSC is worse than useless when you have to ask a question that isn't on its phone tree menu, or when it screws up. No kidding. The machine asked me for my zip code the first time I dealt with it and it told me my home post office was in Washington, D.C. Even gave me its hours of operation, too. Trouble is, I live in Colorado.
Reporting a busted door should take about what? Two minutes, max? The NSC turned it into a Holy Chore. I don’t know what’s worse: Someone taking up your time trying to be uselessly helpful or someone taking up your time to be maliciously destructive. I used to think it was number two. Now I don’t know anymore.
There is something pernicious at work here. That door had been broken for a month and I couldn't figure out why it had just sat there. Now after dealing with the NSC, I think I know why. The NSC made it as difficult as possible to report that damn broken door. You want to be a decent person and all but after dealing with the NSC you got the feeling, 'why even report the damn thing in the first place?' Mail carriers must see it every day. Let THEM report it to the post office. After all, it’s THEIR door.
There’s another reason I bring this up. The first time I dealt with the National Service Center, I hung up, snarling. It was my tax money that was being spent on this equivalent of a screen door in a submarine. So I called Rep. Bob Schaffer’s office to complain about it. My congressman.
Bob wasn’t in just then. Instead, I got a fellow offering to put me on a list of people the Congressman would call when he addressed my problem, so I gave him my name and number. Let’s see if he’s one of those guys who just complains about the government or actually DOES something.
Well, that was five years ago. I think Bob's run out of time. I haven’t heard from him or from one of his aides. Neither has anyone in my family. Bob sure didn’t leave a message. Oh, what the hell, he isn’t even in office anymore and I don’t even get my mail in the box with the busted door. Screw it.
I have, but that’s because I was naive enough to ask a question that should have stayed unasked. The depressing part is that's probably not the last time I make that mistake.
You have probably never heard of the NSC, as it involves snail-mail, something of which most of you have probably heard of but never actually used. If that is the case, you can just stop reading right now and play a video game or bang your goddam head against the wall or do whatever the hell it is you do. This will make no sense to you and I don't want to answer or even see dumbass replies innocently asking why I'm so upset. I don't wanna even see them, okay? Just the IDEA of you people is pissing me off.
Man, I am waiting for the day when one of you comes across a stamp and literally does not know what the hell it is. On that day, I am postive that America is doomed and the morons have officially taken over.
Technically, the NSC is not an example of new gadgetry. The gadgetry it uses has been around for some time, except for the computer. However, it IS an example of obstensibly 'improving' something that is not broken with something that was busted to begin with, something which never fails to annoy The Luddite. He hopes--well, suspects--that he is not alone.I imagine that the National Service Center was the brainchild of someone who got tired of answering the same question for the umpteenth time.
For those of you who don’t know, the National Service Center has been set up nationwide to take advantage of technology when confronted with common questions, such as “Yeah. Uh, can you tell me what my state capitol is? I uh…forgot.” Yeah, sure. You know damn well anyone who asks a question that way is settling a bar bet.
The NSC is what you get when you call the Department of Labor, or the Department of the Interior or the Post Office or the Pony Express or whatever. Sometimes you can get around it, such as when you call someone in the basement at the Census Bureau who is so happy to hear from another human being that he does everything but offer to cook dinner for you at his home, but it’s not easy. I think the original purpose was to consolidate information requests through one clearinghouse and to get people with annoying questions to go away. It does the latter task beautifully.
When you have a question about something that isn’t on the phone menu at the National Service Center, you are fucked. Seriously. You get this feeling of being in one of life’s horrible moments, like finding your child floating facedown in the swimming pool and not knowing CPR. You can’t get anyone to help and you don’t know what to do next.
The first time I ran into the National Service Center was a few years ago, when I tried to call the Post Office. I got two conflicting rates for a Christmas package, so I tried to call the bulk mail center at my local post office to clear the whole thing up. I got the National Service Center instead.
This happened in 1999, I think. The National Service Center was still getting its legs underneath it and you could get a human being to talk to. I got a guy who not only couldn’t answer my question, but also refused to connect me with his superior or even tell me where he was. (He’s probably working for GE right now in their unhelpful customer service department.) I called back after hanging up on the nervous guy and got a very helpful woman from Denver who looked on her computer screen and promptly gave me the wrong rate information (I know this because it sounded weird and because of what I subsequently did) and told me that all calls to the Post Office would now be going through the National Service Center. This is like telling Alice that she’ll be only be going on a little trip down that rabbit hole.
I said thank you and called a post office in a small town that is now southwest of me. I called them because I suspected the rate the very helpful woman had given me was wrong and because I knew that this post office was small enough to escape notice by the NSC. I got a very nice man on the phone who gave me the correct rate, tout suite. I know it was the correct rate because I drove out there to mail my package. He took it away and mailed it without correcting anything. I didn’t have to wait in line; I didn’t have to answer a bunch of questions; I just mailed the box, which is what I wanted to do before I had the misfortune of dealing with the National Service Center.
Well, what the hell. It was just getting started, right? Unfortunately, this was not the extent of my dealings with the goddamn National Service Center. The second time I dealt with it involved a change-of-address and believe it or not, is too long to go into and amazes me to this fucking day. The third time, I was living in a condominium and wanted to report a broken door on a parcel delivery box. I tried to call the a nearby station but forgot about the NSC. I got them instead. I cursed because I knew a human being wasn’t going to be on the other end for some time. I wasn’t prepared for the fact that I never GOT a human being. I was on the phone for 18 minutes, trying to push the right buttons.
(I am not vindictive and I don’t know who invented phone tree technology, but I hope their kids get beaten up on the way home from school right after they tell their classmates what Daddy does for a living. Here’s a useful message: People who use telephones don’t wanna get phone trees or machines of any kind on the other end. They hate them. They’re busy too. That’s why they use the phone instead of coming over. Getting a machine is like being told--very nicely--to go pound sand.)
I can just imagine the poor swine that actually have to answer zip code requests every day. They would actually welcome a broken door report just for the variety. The National Service Center is probably a godsend for them. However, they don’t get to call the NSC; we do. The NSC is probably great when you ask about addresses or zip codes or hours, or that kind of thing. But the NSC is worse than useless when you have to ask a question that isn't on its phone tree menu, or when it screws up. No kidding. The machine asked me for my zip code the first time I dealt with it and it told me my home post office was in Washington, D.C. Even gave me its hours of operation, too. Trouble is, I live in Colorado.
Reporting a busted door should take about what? Two minutes, max? The NSC turned it into a Holy Chore. I don’t know what’s worse: Someone taking up your time trying to be uselessly helpful or someone taking up your time to be maliciously destructive. I used to think it was number two. Now I don’t know anymore.
There is something pernicious at work here. That door had been broken for a month and I couldn't figure out why it had just sat there. Now after dealing with the NSC, I think I know why. The NSC made it as difficult as possible to report that damn broken door. You want to be a decent person and all but after dealing with the NSC you got the feeling, 'why even report the damn thing in the first place?' Mail carriers must see it every day. Let THEM report it to the post office. After all, it’s THEIR door.
There’s another reason I bring this up. The first time I dealt with the National Service Center, I hung up, snarling. It was my tax money that was being spent on this equivalent of a screen door in a submarine. So I called Rep. Bob Schaffer’s office to complain about it. My congressman.
Bob wasn’t in just then. Instead, I got a fellow offering to put me on a list of people the Congressman would call when he addressed my problem, so I gave him my name and number. Let’s see if he’s one of those guys who just complains about the government or actually DOES something.
Well, that was five years ago. I think Bob's run out of time. I haven’t heard from him or from one of his aides. Neither has anyone in my family. Bob sure didn’t leave a message. Oh, what the hell, he isn’t even in office anymore and I don’t even get my mail in the box with the busted door. Screw it.
posted by S. Olson at 7:22 PM
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