Wells is one of a breed of young telephone troubleshooters that computer and software companies employ to help customers with their new, high-tech toys. They are the know-it-alls on the “help” line who rescue that crucial report that was lost when little Johnny was playing Flight Simulator. Microsoft, Macintosh, Compaq, IBM – all have technical support services that come with the purchase of their products. And last week’s post-Christmas crush kept their lines buzzing with calls from new computer owners.
But those who want one-stop assistance with virtually any manufacturer’s equipment can now subscribe, for $144 a year, to Digital Equipment Corp.’s Service-In-A-Box. “It’s crisis du jour,” says Terrell Holley, captain of Digital’s team of 15 men and one woman. “Every time you pick up the telephone, you get somebody who’s mad as hell.” About 300 calls (from men and women, in equal numbers) come in each day to Digital’s 24-hour consumer-support service, where techies explain everything from installing the popular Doom II CD-ROM game to setting data bits for Procomm Plus. To minimize the pain for customers on hold, Holley encourages his cadre of Elroy Jetsons to use a just-the-facts-ma’am approach with little small talk. (The result: average hold time is only two minutes.) The toughest calls – about a third – are from “newbies,” neophytes who don’t know a CPU from a CPA. “They’ve got a Lamborghini mouse that somebody got them for their birthday, and they want to know how to use that,” Holley says.
At Digital’s offices north of Atlanta, technoids snarf pizza and mainline Coca-Cola in between customers like the “Ophthalmologist from Hell,” who can’t take advice, and “Andrea,” who will talk only to her favorite problem-solver. The heavy dose of cyberabuse requires that staff be carefully screened for hotheads who might return a caller’s hostile fire. The recruiting process starts with a telephone interview in which Holley asks the prospective employee a series of annoying questions like the ones customers have. “After you get off the phone, you just go, “aaahhhh’,” says technician Kevin Austin, 21. But if the applicants keep their cool, they come to the office for a grueling technological give-and-take. “I do that because our customers will leave them in tears and take their lunch money,” Holley says. “I’m looking for junkies who have the habit.” The rewards are access to the best computer technology available and the daily challenge of problem-solving. (Salary: $20,000 to $40,000.) “It gives me an opportunity to flex a little more of my brainpower,” says Blaine Jones, 29. Occasionally, “we do get stumped.”
The mostly twentysomething Service-In-A-Box techies were weaned on software programs and are gadgetized to the max at home. They would rather solve the Screaming Fist II virus than watch a football game; one writes computer music; they fight with spouses over who gets the laptop; they spend their off hours navigating the Internet. David Wood, 23, a University of Maryland dropout with a ponytail and an earring, has an easygoing manner that deflates even the most blistering callers. But his jaw tightens when he thinks of the guy with the broken printer who started a conversation by downloading a stream of obscenities. “He made the remark,” Wood recalls, “that he hoped Santa didn’t come to my house, and if he did, he’d burn it down.” Sitting on hold with Tchaikovsky may be torture while your computer won’t budge, but the wait is worth it for those who want to put the Christmas gift in gear.
