Category: Customer Service

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When last we left our hero, he needed to determine the decision date for continuation of his medical insurance. He tried using all the written documentation and the on line information provided.   He learned absolutely nothing about the decision due date. He goes to bed pledging to renew his battle the next day.

Thinking it would be a simple phone call, I call WageWorks, the insurance company, approximately an hour before I needed to depart for a lunch date. I also figure in a quick shower within this hour. After all, I have plenty of time and all I want is a lousy date.

I call WageWorks which goes to a call center that is obviously not in the United States. I explain to the woman that what I need. She immediately puts me on hold. Every few minutes, she checks back with me explaining that she is looking for the answer. I wait patiently, listening to the on hold music which is really bad. I mean it is really really bad. It sounds like a recording of a painfully untalented six year old. Every so once in awhile, the keys are pounded vigorously, and then short but frequent gaps of no music when I imagine the prodigy is trying to find his place on the sheet music, then either a tentative ting on the key or a hammer like pound on the ivories. I put my phone on speaker and renew my own search for the date on line.

After about fifteen minutes of bad piano, the woman returns to the line and explains that she can only help with HSA accounts and that I would need to call my former employer to see how to handle my COBRA account. I reply that my document states I need to contact them. She says only for HSA accounts. My document doesn’t say that. Her command of English deteriorates as our conversation continues. Realizing I am getting nowhere with her and knowing that my old companies call center is in the US, I decide to try them. After all, all I want is a lousy date.

The benefit’s representative asks me for my employee number. I explain that I am no longer an employee. I am calling about COBRA benefits. She says they don’t handle COBRA. I tell her that I was told to call my former employer as WageWorks didn’t have this information. She tries pulling my details through my social security number. Nothing appears on her screen. She explains that she will need to find someone who can help me.

The second woman listens to every painful detail of my story before deciding that she too would be unable to help me. She puts me on hold while she locates someone who can help. I patiently wait. The on hold music, however, is quite tolerable. It is easy listening instrumentals of classic rock that seem to be performed by professional musicians.   In the interim, I received a text message saying that my lunch date needs an additional 15 minutes, which I am glad to have gotten the reminder as I had kind of forgotten about my date. I check the clock. I have about ten minutes before I have to leave. I am already committed to the phone call , so I opt to wait for the representative to return and I will go to my lunch smelly and scruffy.

While I am rearranging my schedule to accommodate this phone call, a third woman comes on line with a strained voice of someone who is about to deliver bad news. I wait. She explains that they have outsourced the Health Insurance elections for Cobra to a company called WageWorks and that I would need to call them. I tell her that WageWorks just told me to call my former employer. She wearily responds, “I know that.” I am frustrated. I tell her all I want is a lousy date. “Can’t you do anything for me?” She sighs. She would like to help but she doesn’t have any of my information. I needed to call WageWorks. Wageworks has all of my information.

Then I remembered that WageWorks indeed has all of my information as I was able to register last night and the system filled in all of the blanks with my name, address, phone number and even my bank’s routing information. Since they were delivered all of this private information with the anticipation of me signing up for benefits, they certainly must be able to help me. I am registered. Armed with this new information I feel ready to tackle WageWorks and get my decision date. Except now I have run out of time and need to leave for lunch. Part of me thinks that this will be easy, it will take one second to get this information. Then, the other part of me, the rational, reality-based Tom realizes that this is not going to take a minute and I decide to tackle this assignment after lunch. I leave unshowered, unshaved and frustrated for lunch.

So after trying for little more than an hour yesterday evening and another hour this morning, I still don’t know when I need to make my decision.

Stay tuned for Part III — the third and final installment.

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All I wanted was a due date.

My Health Care company sent me a 40-page document explaining the big changes in coverage for 2018. One small but important detail was missing from this opus – the date that my decision was due. This date was extremely important because the document stated, in no uncertain terms, that if I missed the closing date that they would make my health plan selection for me.

I was certain the date would be somewhere in the colorful charts and graphs liberally displayed throughout the 40 pages. I mean who writes a 40-page document with constant warnings about the due date and not give the due. I skimmed the document quickly. The decision date was missing. I carefully and slowly reread the document and I found my answer. Wait, that’s not true. I found some wording that pointed to an answer – it said check the WageWorks web site for the closing date with yet another warning about being prompt about my decision or else.

This meant I had to reread the document yet again. Much to my chagrin, I don’t find a website address. I do notice, however, that every time the document had the word WageWorks that it was in a different color print much like if you were reading a document on line. The brightly colored print highlights the hyperlinked words. If I were reading on line, all I would have to do is click the hyperlink. The only problem is I was reading a print document. Clicking on a piece of paper takes me no where. I do try in case I was wrong because I hate when you talk to a help desk person and they snarl something like, “you didn’t try to click on the print document.” And, of course, you feel like a complete idiot when the action you thought was obviously wrong was in fact the right thing to do. You will be happy to know, I was correct. There is no need to click a hyperlink in a print document. It will not send you to the web site.

After taking a fourth look at the document, I surrendered and googled WageWorks. I found the WageWork web address and went  to the site. There was a lot of positive feedback about the company and what it was doing, it’s goals, etc. but I failed to locate a closing date for my medical insurance decision. I am doing this all at midnight so their help desk is closed. I read something that leads me to believe that if I register with WageWorks, everything I ever wanted to know about Wageworks would be then revealed to me. I figure I would have to register eventually so I register. To my shock, it is easy. Wageworks has all of my information. I type in F and Fitzpatrick appears. I type in T and Thomas appears. All I have to do is confirm if they have the correct information. I carry on until I see my bank account number and my banks routing information.

This upsets me. How did they get my banking information? I didn’t give it to them. I never even heard of Wageworks until I opened the document they sent me. I try to close out of the document but they have hidden the little X in the corner that will close you out. After hitting escape and various other keys without luck, I decide what the hell they already have the information. I am not keeping them from anything and I will probably have to register with them and they will need this information anyway. Why not complete the registration and I can talk to them tomorrow and straighten things out. I depress the enter key and voila, I am registered.

Except registering doesn’t give me access to any more information than I had when I was unregistered. The due date is still missing. There is a tab called questions. I depress it. The screen changes but there is no little box where you type your question. Maybe it is hidden in one of the other tabs. I click through them seeing if there is a box for me to type my question or, better yet, a due date for my decision.

I try a different web browser because I have had this problem with a different company and learned that if you change your browser, sometimes everything works as designed. Which is annoying and I brought this up to the help desk person who offered this solution. “How am I supposed to know which browser I should be using?” She cheerfully replied, “Oh you can’t.” I pointed out that her company’s preferred solution in handling this known problem was to wait for the customer to become so frustrated and angry that they are forced to seek assistance from the help desk. She cheerfully informed me that this problem had been escalated to the highest level of the company and that we should expect a solution any day.

I could go on about this customer service problem but I digress from the customer service I was original talking about. I don’t want to be confusing. Really, I don’t. Any way, I try a different browser. Complete and utter failure. I can’t see a due date and I can’t find a question box. At this point, I surrender. I realize I am going to have to contact them in the morning. Except that I am wired now and I can’t get to sleep. I am grinding my teeth and imagining the pithy statements I will be making tomorrow once I finally reach a person who can take me out of this Hell. Or not.

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Is it my imagination or has American Customs and Immigration become needlessly slow with long lines, redundant tasks, and baffling processes that seems to have no benefit, certainly for the traveller, but also to the agencies gathering the information.

Here is my recent experience.

Bob and I land in Atlanta at 2:30PM. Our flight to San Diego leaves at 6:10. This leaves a comfortable three and half hours layover at Hartsfield. We even joke about having too much time for a layover.

Our gate is approximately a ten minute walk to the Immigration line entrance. Not a bad idea after being on a plane for 9 hours and restrooms at nice intervals. So far so good.

We read the entrance to line. There is a very sensible division American/Canadian/Green card holders/ Visa holders go to the right and all other passport holders go to the left. I understand perfectly. Or do I? I move to the right where a woman in uniform tells me I need to go to the left. I explain that I am an American and point to the sign. She gives me the tired and frustrated look of an overworked bureaucrat who has been asked the same question all day is extremely irritated to have to reply for the thousandth time. “And I am telling you today you need to go to the left.” She didn’t look like someone in the mood for a follow up question; we moved to the line on the left.

It is 2:45PM

I am worried because I can see passport holder on the right with theirAmerican passports. On the plus side, the line is moving reasonably fast, and we spy another Customs official at the front of this line who seems to be giving instructions to people when they reach him. We have plenty of time and can afford a few minutes in the wrong line and he will move us to correct line and all will be well.

The line snakes through like an amusement park line with cut backs at a rapid enough clip to maintain my confidence that this will all be over soon. We finally reach the front of the line where I explain we are Americans. The man tells me to get into the line on the right. I stifle an urge to ask why the other Customs official told us to get into the line on the left as we have spent the last 15 minutes in the wrong line, only be told now to join the correct line for American passport holders. However I confused I am, I know enough not to challenge a bureaucrat under stress. This could put me in a very long line to nowhere. More importantly, I am confident that we are now in the correct line.

It is 3:00PM

The line slows significantly with short spurts of movement interspersed with long spans of gridlock. Still, with two hours to go, confident that we have plenty of time. While snaking through the line, I reach the point where I would have entered the line 15 minutes earlier. I overhear a young immigration employee asks the uniformed woman who directed everyone to the left “why don’t we just direct American passport holders to the right, why are we telling them to go to the left? This doesn’t make any sense.” YES. I wholeheartedly agree. My ears perk up because, if nothing else, I might get an explanation for this misrouting. Unfortunately, she responds to him in a muted supervisory tone why. I unfortunately am unable to hear her reply. I do, however, feel my sanity is confirmed when the young man, who speaks in much more clearer and louder tone to assist with my eavesdropping, remains unconvinced by her explanation, “ I still don’t understand but whatever you say, you are the boss.”

It is 3:15PM

The line moves forward in fits and starts. A very happy immigration official keeps us entertained by loudly directing us with snappy inspirational instructions and song. He sings, “Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.” He gives jovial instructions and tries to engage us in conversation, “This line is for American passport holders with a Delta connection, tell me what is a Delta connection?” No one responds. “I can’t hear you,” he yells enthusiastically. A few passengers weakly reply not in unison and not very loudly so I am not sure what they say but it seems to satisfy him as he bellows, “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You flew in on a Delta flight and you are flying out on a Delta flight. I don’t think anyone actually said this but then I couldn’t hear anything. Everyone in this part of the line seems amused with him though as he is trying to lighten the drudgery of standing in a long line for a long time with song, with light hearted questions. I wonder why every customs office doesn’t have such a happy worker greeting incoming passengers.

It is 3:30PM.

We are about six feet from the happy immigration man, I now want to gag him. Or anything that would shut him up. His mouth moves incessantly. An endless flood of words. His ever evolving routine is now about how great Atlanta is and how lucky you are to be in the greatest city in the whole wide world with occasional outbursts of “Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.” His song is like a knife through my tired skull. I, however stifle my irritation, because I am almost to the front of the line. The end is near.

It is 3:45PM.

When I reach the front of the line, I am directed to one of the hundreds of computer terminals. As I don’t travel internationally much, I am unsure what to do. The instructions on the terminal say to insert my passport into a slot to start the process. After several mistakes I manage to get the passport properly slotted and I successfully complete the on line customs form. I am on a roll until the terminal instructs me to use the terminal to take a picture of myself. The instructions are clear. The picture must have my full face with my eyes open looking into the screen. The camera is far from intuitive. In the first picture my forehead is missing. I retake but this time my chin missing. I try again but this one my eyes are closed. I keep taking pictures and discarding, hoping for a full face with my eyes open. Bob comes by to see what is taking me so long. I show him my latest photograph. He says that immigration official told him not to worry about the picture. Just take what I have and get into the next line where an immigration will collect my picture and custom form. I print my picture with my forehead missing and my eyes firmly closed and join yet another line.

It is 4:00PM.

The immigration official doesn’t even look at my photograph. He eyeballs me and then my passport. He decided I matched my passport photo. Now I can’t understand why I took the trouble and time to take a picture in the first place if he wasn’t going to bother to look at. I thought this was the whole point. That there was some computer program that matches this photograph with my immigration photo and determine if they match. I was kind of impressed with all of up-to-date technology made to catch the ne’re-do-wells of the world. But no, I was wrong, it all boiled down to the immigration officials eyeballs. Why did I spend the last 10 minutes taking the picture if it was all up to him in the first place? Time is slipping away so I again skip questioning him about it. We run to collect our baggage which has been on the luggage carousel long enough to gather dust. I pick it up and run a few feet to chuck it onto a conveyer belt in front of about ten customs official who all look like they would rather be having a cigarette. They point me to another line.

It is 4:15PM.

Yes, you heard correctly, another line. Why? I can’t understand. I gave immigration my customs documents and he looked at my passport over and custom guys missed their opportunity to search my luggage as I already sent the luggage back to Delta. Can’t I just run frantically to my gate? What else needs to be done? Bob tells me that we are going through security. Which baffles me. I just got off of a plane which was secure, why do I need to go through security yet again. Because once I left the plane and went to Customs and Immigration, I left a secure environment and entered into an unsecure environment.

Which seems a rather unnecessary step to add to passengers who, after all, are trying to catch a connecting flight. Doesn’t it make more sense to have the hundred or so Immigration and Customs employees go through security when they come to work and just make the Immigration and Customs section of the airport secure? Instead of requiring thousands of already vetted passengers at the nations busiest airport go through security yet again when they are under a looming time crunch to meet their connecting flights? I yell into the abyss and, of course, join the security line.

It is 4:30PM.

I am now getting really worried that we will miss our connecting flight. Other passengers obviously have the same worry, so several passengers take turns going to the TSA official and explaining their concerns. She, after several such encounters, yells out to everyone in the security line that getting out of line and asking her about your looming connecting flight won’t make the line move any faster, just stay in line and TSA will get you through as quickly as possible. I hate to call someone a liar but I will. She is a liar. We could plainly see that, on a rare occasion, someone would come up to her and after irritatingly listening to their query she directs them out of the line into another line which, to my untrained eyes, seems to be moving faster. I wonder what the time threshold for joining the faster line is because very few people are invited in. As we are still over an hour before we need to be at the gate, Bob and I opt to stay in line and keep our fingers crossed. The line moves reasonably fast and we make it through security at 4:45PM where we frantically run to our gate. The good news is I had roughly 10 minutes to toss down a martini before our plane boarded.

Two hours and fifteen minutes.