Have you ticked your box?
Last Saturday we took friends on a trip to buy cherries. We know a farmer in Kent who grows fat juicy black cherries and every year we buy them to eat fresh and for our Rum Topf. I use the happily named Wood's Navy Rum (sadly no relative) a dark over proof rum made in Guyana for the Topf. It's spectacularly rich, darkly demerara and is magical when added to Christmas cake. But, I digress. We decided to drive back to London via a couple of seaside towns.
Our first stop was Bexhill on Sea where we had tea and walked along part of its magnificent two-mile long promenade. Walking back to the car we reflected on the fact that this town saw the birth, in 1902, of British motorcar racing. Our next intended stop was Eastbourne, but on our way we stopped to walk among the ruins of the Roman and Medieval Castles at Pevensey bay. The Roman remains date back 1,700 years. They were part of Britannia's defences against marauding Saxons. Indeed, the official responsible for this coastline was called “The Count of the Saxon Shore.” It's an interesting place and must have been enormous when in its prime. Outside the Roman walls, many sturdy and still tall, nestles the pretty village of Pevensey. The site's other claim to fame is that it's here that William Duke of Normandy landed in 1066 and established his bridgehead for the invasion of England.
Returning to the car Aselle reported that the steering had become heavy. I drove and it got heavier until finally, I decided to give up, park on a petrol station forecourt and call our breakdown service. It was quickly apparent that the man who answered was reading from a script and the script had boxes that had to be ticked. Surprisingly, where we were was the last question coming after ones such as, “Do you have special needs?” “ Does anyone else have special needs?” As one of the first questions was “Are you parked safely and away from the vehicle?” and “Is anyone injured or have medical conditions?” they seemed superfluous and I said so. The voice had the tone of a teacher dealing with a naughty child. “We have to answer all these questions or we can't get help.” Oh dear, but at last, “Where are you, please give me the Postcode.” Not wishing to provoke another, heavens knows how long, lecture; I replied, “I've never been here, I don't live here, how would I know the Postcode. The street address is …… can't you use that?”
Twenty minutes later Jason arrived driving a recovery truck. Oh joy, a human, a cheerful competent human who checked the car, the fluid levels and decided that there was nothing he could do on the spot, but he could take us to the depot, give us a courtesy car and the mechanics would deal with it on Monday. He loaded the car and off we went. On arrival one sheet of paper, two signatures, and no tick boxes produced the courtesy car. Monday they phoned, the culprit a loose connection, all fixed for one hour's labour cost. The contrast extraordinary, tick box call centre versus practical workshop. With so much of life now digital are we condemned to a future of ticking boxes, of long-winded questionnaires designed to hinder legal claims rather than help customers?
In 1961 Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley wrote a book that became a musical and then a film. Stop the World – I Want to Get Off. Before we become the box that's ticked I'd like to stop this world and reset it to one that is human friendly, one Jason and his colleagues still inhabit, but is increasingly threatened by legions of do gooding digitised busy bodies.
Our first stop was Bexhill on Sea where we had tea and walked along part of its magnificent two-mile long promenade. Walking back to the car we reflected on the fact that this town saw the birth, in 1902, of British motorcar racing. Our next intended stop was Eastbourne, but on our way we stopped to walk among the ruins of the Roman and Medieval Castles at Pevensey bay. The Roman remains date back 1,700 years. They were part of Britannia's defences against marauding Saxons. Indeed, the official responsible for this coastline was called “The Count of the Saxon Shore.” It's an interesting place and must have been enormous when in its prime. Outside the Roman walls, many sturdy and still tall, nestles the pretty village of Pevensey. The site's other claim to fame is that it's here that William Duke of Normandy landed in 1066 and established his bridgehead for the invasion of England.
Returning to the car Aselle reported that the steering had become heavy. I drove and it got heavier until finally, I decided to give up, park on a petrol station forecourt and call our breakdown service. It was quickly apparent that the man who answered was reading from a script and the script had boxes that had to be ticked. Surprisingly, where we were was the last question coming after ones such as, “Do you have special needs?” “ Does anyone else have special needs?” As one of the first questions was “Are you parked safely and away from the vehicle?” and “Is anyone injured or have medical conditions?” they seemed superfluous and I said so. The voice had the tone of a teacher dealing with a naughty child. “We have to answer all these questions or we can't get help.” Oh dear, but at last, “Where are you, please give me the Postcode.” Not wishing to provoke another, heavens knows how long, lecture; I replied, “I've never been here, I don't live here, how would I know the Postcode. The street address is …… can't you use that?”
Twenty minutes later Jason arrived driving a recovery truck. Oh joy, a human, a cheerful competent human who checked the car, the fluid levels and decided that there was nothing he could do on the spot, but he could take us to the depot, give us a courtesy car and the mechanics would deal with it on Monday. He loaded the car and off we went. On arrival one sheet of paper, two signatures, and no tick boxes produced the courtesy car. Monday they phoned, the culprit a loose connection, all fixed for one hour's labour cost. The contrast extraordinary, tick box call centre versus practical workshop. With so much of life now digital are we condemned to a future of ticking boxes, of long-winded questionnaires designed to hinder legal claims rather than help customers?
In 1961 Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley wrote a book that became a musical and then a film. Stop the World – I Want to Get Off. Before we become the box that's ticked I'd like to stop this world and reset it to one that is human friendly, one Jason and his colleagues still inhabit, but is increasingly threatened by legions of do gooding digitised busy bodies.
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The checking the box fiasco is so typical of these companies. I agree that asking if special needs passengers are there should be up at the top of the checklist. When did we get so boxed in with this stuff and forget the humanity at the other end of the line.
I couldn't help but chuckle at your being asked what the post code was for the place you were at! HA! How many times do they get a call from people out of town who do not know that. Another box to check for that I am sure.
Glad you made it back safely.