Friday, April 4, 2008

How May I, Er..Help You?


It was one of those life moments that just screamed "Hmmmmmmmmmmm..."

I came home one afternoon to find a voice mail from a representative of Citibank. At least, that's what it sounded like. The guy was unintelligible. He was calling obviously from Bombay or Sri Lanka or some other global bowel movement. Sahib stumbled over his words, but it was clear that Citibank needed to speak with me. He left a callback number. 800-something, something, something. I had to listen to it six times before I could correctly understand every digit.

Why was I giving this even the slightest time of day? Well, I do have a Citibank Advantage card through American Airlines, which grabs me beaucoup frequent flyer miles. I use it whenever I need to pay for a big ticket item like the annual Dodger season ticket invoice, etc.. So, I immediately consider this dothead's call as a signal to some sinister credit card fraud. I call the number. And surprise, I am connected to some company that is identified by some other telephone operator with a a view of the Ganges. But, the company name is not given as Citibank.

I mention to the maharincess on duty that I received this call from someone representing Citibank. She immediately asks for my social security number.

Huh? I ask if there is some other way she can reference my records. She says, "no, sir." Red flags start to appear all around my telephone receiver. I refuse to give the information and hang up.

I stood in my bedroom and stared at the phone. What the hell is happening here? Has fraud in this world become as simple as that? I wonder how many people quickly comply with this request and hand over their social security number as fast as they would give over their cell phone number. I pulled out my Citibank credit card and called the customer service number on the back. Once again, I am immediately whisked back to Monsoonland. But this time, they do a lookup by simply using my name and the password question that is in my files. They assure me that my account is alive, well, and not in somebody else's grubby mitts.

Talk about tapping my keg of venom. I am astounded how your life can be so easily compromised and even destroyed these days. Your social security number can be somebody else's ticket to the promised land. And it can be so easily pilfered. From your credit history. Your health insurance carrier which often uses the SSN as your policy identifier. I remember once having to rent a tuxedo in NY with my Amex card. On my very next bill, there were ten round trip plane tickets purchased. From JFK to Bogota, Columbia. My need to rent a monkey suit winds up as a major windfall for the drug trafficking industry.

Beyond that, when did this country totally cede telephone customer service to the fifth world nations of the world? Are our US companies so starved for profits that this work can't be outsourced to someplace where English is not a fourth language? Aren't there plenty of unemployed people within our own borders that could be easily put to work as phone operators in some Iowa call center?

You can't open your wallet. You can't answer the phone. But, still, we are told this is America. The land of endless opportunities. Apparently, both legal and illegal.

Dinner last night: Spicy cashew chicken at the Cheesecake Factory.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Why can't you get an American when you call the customer service line? Cheaper to send you to India. They have a billion people. They work cheaper than us, even at minimum wage. They claim to speak English. That's debatable. I like how they "Americanize" themselves with names like Jerry or Bob. Yeah, right.

There's a backlash. People are pissed they have to deal with mumblemouths who are no help at all.