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The other day I made a phone call to reschedule an appointment with a new optician. I sensed something memorable was going to happen as soon as I heard the receptionist's voice. It was trite and flat, incapable of expressing joy or sorrow, excitement or serenity, aversion or ardor: the voice that people imitate when they say, "Duh." Lo and behold, that's exactly what she effectively said in our ensuing exchange.
"What did you say your name was?"
"King."
"How do you spell that?"
It was a first. I've been through some rough patches in my time, but they were eased by certain small advantages life has dealt me. One is my name. Among the auxiliary reasons why I never married (never mind the main one) is that I hated to give up a path-smoother like King. Many people spend their lives correcting the spelling and pronunciation of their names, and it's hard work, but in this, at least, I've always belonged to the leisure class.
If his receptionist couldn't spell King, what was the optician who hired her like? I wouldn't trust these baby bloodshots to just anybody, to paraphrase Lynda Carter, so instead of rescheduling the appointment I canceled it. The receptionist was the most extreme example of a human posthole I've yet encountered, but by no means the only one. The Invasion of the Duh People is upon us. Duhs are at the gates, and usually on the telephone. They seem to cluster in that mangled universe known as Customer Service-assigning order numbers, straightening out exchanges and returns, and computing state sales taxes. Our calls are very important to them, which is why I dread buying, subscribing, complaining, or inquiring about anything whatsoever.
Take my catalog order. In the "Color" block I wrote "1st choice, blue; 2nd, green," but all I got was a postcard saying, "We are unable to fill your order. Please call our toll-free number." I did. When the rep came on, I gave her my order number and she pulled it up on her computer and read my name and address back to me. "Right," I said.
Source: HighBeam Research, Misanthrope's Corner.(Column)