Tuesday, June 07, 2005
A Customer Service Story
It’s a crazy week, and I’m busy setting up my MoBlogging module so that I can add content while I travel for the next three weeks. First, I’m headed to India, and then my I will stop in France on the way back for the Cannes Lions. In preparation, I had to go to the Indian consulate this morning, because I had a small problem with my passport.
Last month, while returning from London, I was looked over very suspiciously by the immigration officer. I smiled right back, hoping that it was just his way of being intimidating just for the heck of it. He then cleared his thorat, and proceeded to ask me a few questions.
“Sir, is this your passport?”
“Um...yes, of course.”
He opened it to the photo page and held it out toward me.
“Sir, what’s wrong with this picture?”
I squirmed.
“Well, yes...you see, I used to weigh a lot more, but I’ve been on this South Beach diet and been working out a bit so I look quite thinner, but it’s still me, and of...”
“Sir,” he interrupted. “I meant, what’s wrong with this page?”
Well, that’s not what he said, but I didn’t make too fine a point of it. I examined the page closely and hummed a little hum. I saw what he meant. The laminate over my picture and signature were coming loose, and it appeared as though the picture inside had been forced inside by am amateur.
“It’s the damn heat,” I said. “That’s what did it.”
“Sir, I cannot accept this passport.”
At which point there were two uniformed men that appeared behind me and together, escorted me to a tiny little room where I was subjected to more prodding and questions. Finally, because I had other federal identification papers that confirmed my identity, and because my passport pages were chock-full of visas with my picture printed on them, I was allowed to enter the country. But not before I was told that I had to absolutely get a new passport.
Which brought me to the Indian consulate. I was ticket number 67.
“Number 67!!”
“Yes, yes, that’s me! That’s my number.”
“What can I do for you?”
I explained my issue to the passport officer. He listened empathetically, and nodded. He then took my passport, and looked it over.
“Seems OK to me. You can just use a little glue and it will be fixed!”
“You want me to glue my passport?”
“Yes, glue, gum, any clear adhesive.”
“But it’s my passport.”
“Yes, yes, the plastic will stick back quite nicely.”
“But I’ll get arrested.”
“Nonsense! This is done all the time. You are going to be fine.”
“Um, how I do I get a new passport?”
“You don’t need a new passport.”
“They said I do.”
“Who said?”
“The immigration officers.”
“They don’t know anything.”
“I’ve got money!”
“Well, we have an emergency process you can avail of. It is an extra ninety dollars.”
I paid the money, and provided the necessary information.
He smiled at me. “You may pick up your passport in 10 days.”
“But I paid the emergency fee.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that mean I get it today?” I pointed to the section on their literature where it explained what to expect for emergency handling, like getting the passport back on the same day.
“We are very busy right now.”
“My flight is in 4 days.”
“Oh.”
He thought for a bit, and then his eyes lit up.
“I can give it to you in 6 days.”
“But I’m leaving in 4! How will I go?”
“It’s only 2 days difference. Change your ticket.”
“I’ll miss my wedding!”
He grunted, and stood up. Telling me to wait, he consulted a surly looking woman in the back, and they stood there buzzing to each other, ocassionally glancing in my direction. Finally, he made his way back to me.
“Ok, come back this afternoon. But please do not make a habit of this.”
I promised him I wouldn’t, and left.