v***@public.gmane.org
2005-10-07 19:30:01 UTC
Dear Sir/Madam,
I am writing to complain about the service I have received from O2.
I have been an O2 user for perhaps a couple of years now, and I understand
that I am a high user. I use my phone principally for business, with a
particular need for accessibility whilst traveling abroad.
I have had several problems with customer services at O2, and am enraged at
the lack of care, helpfulness and accessibility I have been offered during my
time with O2.
As a result, and pending the response I receive from this letter, I will be
terminating my contract with O2. Before doing so, I thought I'd put my
experiences in writing as a complaint, admittedly with full expectation that I will
not be offered the simple courtesy of a response.
Naturally, l feel I ought to inform you by way of courtesy, that I shall do
my utmost to ensure that everyone I can possibly access understands that
there is a greater chance of Dick Dastardly and Muttley appearing at my door with
a new O2 mobile phone and having caught that bastard pigeon, than there is
of getting anything other than a crass buffoon saying, "sorry but we can't do
anything to help, thanks for calling and can you read out your telephone
number, address name and birthday, oh and your daytime telephone number, forty
eight times each time we transfer you to the seventeen people you will be
speaking to all of whom will be happy to offer you no help whatsoever, so that we
can charge you for even more for this useless three hour call you're making",
at O2 Customer Services.
One of the first encounters I had with your nefarious customer services
department was probably over a year ago, when I was stuck in the United States
with no service. I called the requisite customer services number, probably 45
minutes before lines were allegedly supposed to close, on a Friday evening.
Foolishly, I thought that the open times advertised were the actual times
that your customer services department were open, rather than a kind of
approximate period of time that your employees might be 'hanging around' the office.
It is only now that I understand that the allure of cracking open a bottle
of whisky and comparing stolen car stereos might hold more interest for some
of your staff, than actually taking a call from a customer.
After holding for half an hour on an international hotel tariff, by some
incredibly diligent and highly technical stroke of investigative genius, I
managed to unearth an international help line number. Naturally, the lovely lady I
spoke to said she couldn't help: at least the consistency is comforting. She
referred me to the UK Customer Services number and assured that the
department was still open and so I challenged her to try to get through herself,
which she failed to be able to do. The whole process cost me close to £50 in
unnecessary hotel telephone bills.
The immense relief several days later of eventually having a working phone,
critical for my work, was the only excuse I can offer myself for my
belligerence in not consigning O2 to one of the worst purchasing decisions of my life,
along with banana yellow flares in 1978, and a single by William Shatner
(his inaugural failed attempt at popular music).
The most recent problem I've had with O2 Customer Services, is even more
infuriating.
My phone stopped working a few weeks ago. As a contributor to the O2
Insurance policy, at gold level no less (presumably a reference to the type of bling
senior management use customer premiums to invest in), I spent three hours
of a working day running back and forth between a flagship O2 Store, a
Carphone Warehouse Repair Centre and then repeating my telephone number to a
procession of O2 Customer Services agents, who I am convinced sit in a huge circle,
make you repeat your details, and then pass you on to the person to their
left, who does the same, in an attempt to coax customers into a satanic chanting
ritual eventually rendering them insane.
The O2 Store employee I spoke to (after the customary half hour wait) told
me to have my phone checked out for repair at the Carphone Warehouse Centre.
If they were unable to repair it, she told me that O2 Insure would then send
me a new one. "Cool!", I thought to myself, oblivious to the fact that this
was just a ruse to make me undertake
the O2 mission impossible. In fact, I've half a mind to next write to Tom
Cruise himself: saving the world from nuclear disaster is all good and well,
but lets see him successfully negotiate O2 Customer Services if he really feels
up to a challenge.
Once the repair centre told me they couldn't fix my phone, I happily
trundled to my office and readied myself for detail repetition. Half an hour later
,I eventually spoke to a human being in O2 Insure who informed me that I
needed some kind of form from the repair centre for them to send me a new handset.
"How cunning" I pondered, as I recalled the dubious smile of my O2 store
assistant, who failed to effing mention this to me.
Exacerbated, taking crucial time out of my working day, and admittedly
broken down by the O2 Customer Services monster, I asked O2 Insure to collect the
phone which they assured me would be done the next day, the 5th of July 2005,
whilst I was away on business for a couple of weeks.
I returned a week or so ago, and fantastically aligned with my heavily
convicted expectations, the phone was still at my apartment. I received no call to
say it wasn't picked up, that the courier couldn't find my place, that the
courier was dead, nothing at all. A phone call to a Simon X (x4021) at O2
Insure that afternoon, resulted in the almost requisite O2 dim wittedness, and a
new level of irritation: a) "we have no records of why it wasn't picked up,
even though we arranged for it" and b) as of last Monday we no longer do
warrantee items, and so can not pick up the phone, you'll have to take it to an O2
store."
"Son of a b****", I thought.
How can a mobile communications company, one of, if not the, most
technologically advanced consumer industry companies in existence, not know whether a
scheduled courier pick up has occurred or not? How can such a company, not
have the common courtesy of informing their customers that there is a problem,
particularly a high revenue customer?
The service stinks. Worse than an old tramp sitting on top of a rubbish
heap, sucking diarrhea out of an old sock. I don't have the time or effort
(particularly after writing this letter) to find an O2 Shop, or fight the
horrifically poor service and lies that I've had to endure from O2.
I hope this letter conveys my sentiments - those of an high usage O2
customer, who is not altogether entirely satisfied with the way he has been treated,
and goes some way to explaining why I would rather stick shards of broken
glass in my eyes than continue using O2, unless, of course, you have to offer
anything other than the banal, generic bull crap response that I am expecting.
Furious, almost to the point of a hernia,
<name withheld>
Don't Frown - You Never Know Who Is Falling In Love With Your Smile
I am writing to complain about the service I have received from O2.
I have been an O2 user for perhaps a couple of years now, and I understand
that I am a high user. I use my phone principally for business, with a
particular need for accessibility whilst traveling abroad.
I have had several problems with customer services at O2, and am enraged at
the lack of care, helpfulness and accessibility I have been offered during my
time with O2.
As a result, and pending the response I receive from this letter, I will be
terminating my contract with O2. Before doing so, I thought I'd put my
experiences in writing as a complaint, admittedly with full expectation that I will
not be offered the simple courtesy of a response.
Naturally, l feel I ought to inform you by way of courtesy, that I shall do
my utmost to ensure that everyone I can possibly access understands that
there is a greater chance of Dick Dastardly and Muttley appearing at my door with
a new O2 mobile phone and having caught that bastard pigeon, than there is
of getting anything other than a crass buffoon saying, "sorry but we can't do
anything to help, thanks for calling and can you read out your telephone
number, address name and birthday, oh and your daytime telephone number, forty
eight times each time we transfer you to the seventeen people you will be
speaking to all of whom will be happy to offer you no help whatsoever, so that we
can charge you for even more for this useless three hour call you're making",
at O2 Customer Services.
One of the first encounters I had with your nefarious customer services
department was probably over a year ago, when I was stuck in the United States
with no service. I called the requisite customer services number, probably 45
minutes before lines were allegedly supposed to close, on a Friday evening.
Foolishly, I thought that the open times advertised were the actual times
that your customer services department were open, rather than a kind of
approximate period of time that your employees might be 'hanging around' the office.
It is only now that I understand that the allure of cracking open a bottle
of whisky and comparing stolen car stereos might hold more interest for some
of your staff, than actually taking a call from a customer.
After holding for half an hour on an international hotel tariff, by some
incredibly diligent and highly technical stroke of investigative genius, I
managed to unearth an international help line number. Naturally, the lovely lady I
spoke to said she couldn't help: at least the consistency is comforting. She
referred me to the UK Customer Services number and assured that the
department was still open and so I challenged her to try to get through herself,
which she failed to be able to do. The whole process cost me close to £50 in
unnecessary hotel telephone bills.
The immense relief several days later of eventually having a working phone,
critical for my work, was the only excuse I can offer myself for my
belligerence in not consigning O2 to one of the worst purchasing decisions of my life,
along with banana yellow flares in 1978, and a single by William Shatner
(his inaugural failed attempt at popular music).
The most recent problem I've had with O2 Customer Services, is even more
infuriating.
My phone stopped working a few weeks ago. As a contributor to the O2
Insurance policy, at gold level no less (presumably a reference to the type of bling
senior management use customer premiums to invest in), I spent three hours
of a working day running back and forth between a flagship O2 Store, a
Carphone Warehouse Repair Centre and then repeating my telephone number to a
procession of O2 Customer Services agents, who I am convinced sit in a huge circle,
make you repeat your details, and then pass you on to the person to their
left, who does the same, in an attempt to coax customers into a satanic chanting
ritual eventually rendering them insane.
The O2 Store employee I spoke to (after the customary half hour wait) told
me to have my phone checked out for repair at the Carphone Warehouse Centre.
If they were unable to repair it, she told me that O2 Insure would then send
me a new one. "Cool!", I thought to myself, oblivious to the fact that this
was just a ruse to make me undertake
the O2 mission impossible. In fact, I've half a mind to next write to Tom
Cruise himself: saving the world from nuclear disaster is all good and well,
but lets see him successfully negotiate O2 Customer Services if he really feels
up to a challenge.
Once the repair centre told me they couldn't fix my phone, I happily
trundled to my office and readied myself for detail repetition. Half an hour later
,I eventually spoke to a human being in O2 Insure who informed me that I
needed some kind of form from the repair centre for them to send me a new handset.
"How cunning" I pondered, as I recalled the dubious smile of my O2 store
assistant, who failed to effing mention this to me.
Exacerbated, taking crucial time out of my working day, and admittedly
broken down by the O2 Customer Services monster, I asked O2 Insure to collect the
phone which they assured me would be done the next day, the 5th of July 2005,
whilst I was away on business for a couple of weeks.
I returned a week or so ago, and fantastically aligned with my heavily
convicted expectations, the phone was still at my apartment. I received no call to
say it wasn't picked up, that the courier couldn't find my place, that the
courier was dead, nothing at all. A phone call to a Simon X (x4021) at O2
Insure that afternoon, resulted in the almost requisite O2 dim wittedness, and a
new level of irritation: a) "we have no records of why it wasn't picked up,
even though we arranged for it" and b) as of last Monday we no longer do
warrantee items, and so can not pick up the phone, you'll have to take it to an O2
store."
"Son of a b****", I thought.
How can a mobile communications company, one of, if not the, most
technologically advanced consumer industry companies in existence, not know whether a
scheduled courier pick up has occurred or not? How can such a company, not
have the common courtesy of informing their customers that there is a problem,
particularly a high revenue customer?
The service stinks. Worse than an old tramp sitting on top of a rubbish
heap, sucking diarrhea out of an old sock. I don't have the time or effort
(particularly after writing this letter) to find an O2 Shop, or fight the
horrifically poor service and lies that I've had to endure from O2.
I hope this letter conveys my sentiments - those of an high usage O2
customer, who is not altogether entirely satisfied with the way he has been treated,
and goes some way to explaining why I would rather stick shards of broken
glass in my eyes than continue using O2, unless, of course, you have to offer
anything other than the banal, generic bull crap response that I am expecting.
Furious, almost to the point of a hernia,
<name withheld>
Don't Frown - You Never Know Who Is Falling In Love With Your Smile