A few days ago, I went to a blood-testing lab inside a large local medical facility. Before they could stick a needle in my arm, I had to negotiate with a small screen on a wobbly post.
There were people behind the desk. But first, the screen.
An older couple stood ahead of me, hunched over the thing. Select an option. Enter a name. Enter a date of birth in the prescribed format. Something wasn’t right. Try again.
Minutes passed. They consulted each other. They tried again. You could see their frustration building, along with the embarrassment of holding up the line.
They had come for medical care. First, they had to demonstrate computer proficiency.
Watching them, I thought about how quickly a receptionist could have handled this.
“Your name? Date of birth? Thank you. Have a seat.”
Instead, we had a line of people waiting to tell a machine who they were, within speaking distance of people whose job involved knowing who they were.
Somewhere, I suspect, this counted as an improvement.
Self-service arrived promising speed, savings and freedom. Book your own flight. Skip the checkout line. Handle your banking without leaving the house.
Much of it delivered. Depositing a check with my phone beats driving to the bank. Amazon can get something to my doorstep before I remember why I ordered it.
I run a business. I understand the value of efficiency.
But I also know you can make one department look more efficient by moving its work somewhere else.
American business has discovered a particularly accommodating department:
Us. No interview required. Just submit a credit card.
We work without wages, provide our own equipment and can be assigned additional duties without notice.
At the grocery store, I’m now qualified to operate a checkout station. Nobody trained me, but management apparently has confidence.
Scan the groceries. Find the produce. Weigh the produce. Put the item in the bagging area. No, the other bagging area. Explain, somehow, that the item already IS in the bagging area.
Eventually, a paid employee arrives to supervise my unpaid work.
One aisle over, somebody gets a paycheck for doing this. I get a receipt.
There are purchases I can put through faster myself. Fine. Give me the choice. But when the staffed lanes disappear, “self-service” begins to sound like a remarkably cheerful name for a staffing decision.
Customer support has followed the same path.
First, search the website. Read the frequently asked questions, which tend to answer questions considerably easier than yours. Then consult the chatbot.
The chatbot is delighted to help.
It would like you to read the frequently asked questions buried at the bottom of the page.
By the time you reach a human, you’ve spent half an hour convincing a machine you needed one.
And then, having explained the problem to the machine, you explain it again to the person.
I don’t mind doing something myself when it saves me time.
I object to spending my time helping a company save theirs.
Even watching television now comes with administrative duties.
When I was a kid, we had three networks and a few local stations. The remote control was whichever kid happened to be closest to the television.
“Gary, change the channel.”
I’d get up, turn the knob and sit down. Primitive, certainly, but our household authentication system was excellent. Everyone recognized me.
Now I have an Apple TV box and streaming services, each with its own credentials. Regularly, one or another needs convincing that I’m still entitled to watch something I’m still paying for.
Enter the username. Enter the password, one character at a time, using a remote control designed primarily for pointing.
Make a mistake and start again.
We once dreamed of televisions so advanced we could talk to them. We got there. Much of what we say is unsuitable for printing in The Signal.
The older couple at the lab has stayed on my mind, though, because their predicament wasn’t funny.
People arrive at a medical office worried, sick, tired, and sometimes forgetful. Eyesight fades. Fingers get less cooperative. A good service accommodates that. The patient shouldn’t have to overcome it just to check in.
We’ve gotten very good at counting the employee minutes a machine saves while overlooking the customer minutes it consumes. Those minutes come out of lunch breaks, working days and time with our families. The frustration follows us home.
Spread them among enough customers and a company can move an enormous amount of work off its books.
Oh, the work still gets done. It just happens to get done on our time.
Then, after we’ve checked ourselves in, checked ourselves out and troubleshot the equipment, up pops the friendly survey.
“How did we do?”
We?
I thought I did pretty well.
Gary Horton is chairman of the College of the Canyons Foundation board. His “Full Speed to Port!” has appeared in The Signal since 2006. The opinions expressed in his column do not necessarily reflect the opinions of The Signal or its editorial board.
