Big Brother Lost My Address
Everyone goes on and on about how nervous they are about handing over their personal details to anyone. What I find frustrating is my details aren't used to track me down enough. Remember the old camera film stores? Prime example of what I'm yelling about. Every time I dashed in a precious roll of film they'd take my name and number and the moment I step out the door, they'd must have used that piece of paper to roll a cigarette.
Six months later I'd wake up in the middle of the night remembering the forgotten film. Then wonder why they didn't bother to give me a call. Then I'd wonder why they ever bother to take your number when they have absolutely no intention of calling you. This doesn't make much business sense because they didn't get their money until I picked up the goods. Assuming I'm not the only forgetful person in the pre-digital era those little drawers must have been stuffed full of forgotten photos. Did they ever stop to think we might take photos because we lack a photographic memory and require a tangible reminder of things we have seen?
Which brings me to the Department of Transport once again. When you renew your license for five years it makes it difficult to mark in your diary the date you need to have your license renewed again. Thank goodness the police seem to know exactly when your license has expired and are kind enough to pull you over to let you know
And as for returned mail, my husband recently received a call from a hire company letting him know he owed two years rental. The bills had been sent to an old address. This new guy had been put in charge of the overdue accounts, had opened my husband's file and given him a call. We wanted to give him a Business Person Of The Year Award (only it wouldn't mean much coming from a pair of forgetful gypsies). With Mr Genius on the case, the overdue account was all sorted within three minutes.
I'd say that I've moved about a dozen times in the past three years and if I had a photographic memory I might be capable of updating my details on the thirty thousand or so companies that I deal with. But my memory leaks more than a BP pipeline. Call me nuts, but when a company typically records your home, work and mobile phone numbers, plus your email address, nicknames and car registration details you assume they might think to try an alternative means to remind you of an overlooked bill.
And what of this strange belief that Australia Post is still a sure way to get hold of someone? C'mon, what you're doing is pushing a piece of folded paper into a big red box full of other bits of paper that look exactly the same, let them pass through about a dozen pairs of hands while travelling thousands of kilometres by airplane, truck and motorbike to a letterbox that may or may not be yours.
I once asked a customer at work if he would like to receive notices by mail. "Sure, I work as a postie, so it would be interesting to see if it actually arrives." This was said with all the optimism of a pensioner opening his electricity bill.
In my experience, most companies don't do the sensible thing. Instead, they hire an angry debt collector to yell down the phone at valued customers until you promise to hand over all your pay check and never dare move house again. I'm not worried about handing over my personal details - I'm worried that I'm deemed so insignificant that in my old age a video store will call to inform me that my overdue DVD owes so much in late fees they've seized my house. And then I'll have to move again.
Six months later I'd wake up in the middle of the night remembering the forgotten film. Then wonder why they didn't bother to give me a call. Then I'd wonder why they ever bother to take your number when they have absolutely no intention of calling you. This doesn't make much business sense because they didn't get their money until I picked up the goods. Assuming I'm not the only forgetful person in the pre-digital era those little drawers must have been stuffed full of forgotten photos. Did they ever stop to think we might take photos because we lack a photographic memory and require a tangible reminder of things we have seen?
Which brings me to the Department of Transport once again. When you renew your license for five years it makes it difficult to mark in your diary the date you need to have your license renewed again. Thank goodness the police seem to know exactly when your license has expired and are kind enough to pull you over to let you know
And as for returned mail, my husband recently received a call from a hire company letting him know he owed two years rental. The bills had been sent to an old address. This new guy had been put in charge of the overdue accounts, had opened my husband's file and given him a call. We wanted to give him a Business Person Of The Year Award (only it wouldn't mean much coming from a pair of forgetful gypsies). With Mr Genius on the case, the overdue account was all sorted within three minutes.
I'd say that I've moved about a dozen times in the past three years and if I had a photographic memory I might be capable of updating my details on the thirty thousand or so companies that I deal with. But my memory leaks more than a BP pipeline. Call me nuts, but when a company typically records your home, work and mobile phone numbers, plus your email address, nicknames and car registration details you assume they might think to try an alternative means to remind you of an overlooked bill.
And what of this strange belief that Australia Post is still a sure way to get hold of someone? C'mon, what you're doing is pushing a piece of folded paper into a big red box full of other bits of paper that look exactly the same, let them pass through about a dozen pairs of hands while travelling thousands of kilometres by airplane, truck and motorbike to a letterbox that may or may not be yours.
I once asked a customer at work if he would like to receive notices by mail. "Sure, I work as a postie, so it would be interesting to see if it actually arrives." This was said with all the optimism of a pensioner opening his electricity bill.
In my experience, most companies don't do the sensible thing. Instead, they hire an angry debt collector to yell down the phone at valued customers until you promise to hand over all your pay check and never dare move house again. I'm not worried about handing over my personal details - I'm worried that I'm deemed so insignificant that in my old age a video store will call to inform me that my overdue DVD owes so much in late fees they've seized my house. And then I'll have to move again.
