Au Revoir to an Old (but Ex-) Friend

What do you do when an old friend, whom you’ve nurtured and defended through tough times, sneers at your friendship?

If you have any self-respect, you walk away in dignity. And that’s what I’m doing with WordPerfect, the word processing program (or “application,” as current terminology describes it).

My relationship with WordPerfect goes way, way back to version 3.0. I touted WordPerfect when WordStar was king. I applauded WordPerfect when it introduced innovation after innovation. I stood astutely at its shoulder during the strange and lean period when Novell owned it and opened the gates for Microsoft Word to achieve dominance. Even after installing it, I used Word only when I had to send or read a disk or e-mail in that format.

Then Corel, a company headquartered in Ottawa, bought WordPerfect. Wow! Great times were ahead. And out came version 7, which closed the gap with Word and even made it possible to send communications in both formats.

One reason it made sense to stay with WordPerfect was the company’s legendary technical support. I could call toll-free at almost any hour and reach a helpful technician who would stay with me until the problem was solved.

An invitation came in the mail: I was asked to attend a demonstration of WordPerfect Office 2000, which includes WordPerfect 9. Off I went. The silver-tongued demonstrator showed a batch of improvements, ranging from being able to place the cursor anywhere on the page and start typing there, to improved speech-to-text capability. The sales pitch promised free tech support for 30 days. Oh well, I’d either conquer new challenges in 30 days or not at all. I ordered version 9 on the spot.

In it came, a bunch of CD-ROMs and the strangest user guide I’ve ever come across. I installed the whole shebang. Unlike previous versions, some components (such as macros) seemed to be empty files, and other unexplained changes challenged my non-techie user skills.

When I went into the “Help” menu, it became the Hell menu. I wanted to know what had happened to the macros. Nothing there. All the references to tech support were for version 8, not 9, and a nasty message said that “Classic Support will be discontinued as of April 1, 1999.” Hey, old friends, this version came to me long after April 1, 1999.

So OK, I called the number, even knowing that number might not be apt. After the usual interminable “Press one,” “press two,” “press three” and a substantial wait, I reached a live voice who listened to my problems, asked a bunch of personal questions and then said, “To get help will cost you $25.” I explained that the sales pitch had included a promise of 30 days’ tech support, of which two days had elapsed. He wasn’t impressed. “To take advantage of that system, call area 716, 871-2325. That’s all I can do for you.” I asked if he’d give me the number of the Corel executive offices. “This is just tech support. We don’t have those numbers.” So I was discarded, like a squeezed lemon.

Naif that I am, I called that area 716 number. Again, considerable time spent wading through various menus. Then, pressing what was supposed to be the right set of keys, a series of “Thank you for your patience,” followed by huge gaps of time. After 18 minutes, I hung up, still informationless.

Like the guy who was bitten by a shark and then jumped back into the water just to be sure it was a shark who bit him, I dialed the number again, determined to enrich the phone company until somebody answered. After 21 minutes, guesswhat: Corel disconnected me.

One more shot. One more interminable and fruitless wait. Sure, I’d have been better off paying the 25 bucks, but who knew how disgusting the proletarian version would be?

So I reached what is too standard a conclusion in this Information Age: It’s our information, not yours, and if you want it you’ll have to sweat for it.

In the quiet rage that follows betrayal, I wasted two calls: One to Ottawa information and one to Corel to get the name of the CEO, grudgingly given – Dr. Michael Cowpland. Off went a letter to Dr. Michael Cowpland, explaining in clear English-language prose what the circumstances were and suggesting that he might try to reach somebody at that area 716 number.

Lots of luck. I could send a communication to the dead letter office and get more satisfaction.

So, Dr. Cowpland and your misguided minions, au revoir. I’m off to Microsoft-Land, where at least the perils are known. As a disgruntled and disillusioned alumnus of WordPerfect, I leave with both regret and relief.

So why am I inflicting this annoying tale on the readers of DIRECT, who undoubtedly have software horror stories of their own to share?

I’ll tell you why. If there be a moral to this tale of commercial immorality, it’s this: Force-communication – getting someone to respond – is a one-way street. But loyalty is a two-way street. Vendors complain and complain about the lack of customer loyalty. Hey, fellows, show us a little and we’ll show you a lot. But the “Me” generation has penetrated to the core of business, and that’s why customers and clients don’t even consider loyalty when making their next buying decision.

Like so many other direct response writers, I’ve created letters, brochures, question/answer forms, response devices and envelope copy, all of which make a promise (based on what we have been told). That’s what we do.

What the originators of these applications are supposed to do is implement these promises. Wouldn’t it make sense for those who have the power to nibble away at public skepticism to assume just a little responsibility as a complement to their natural ego and greed?

What’s the most discouraging is that WordPerfect and Corel aren’t isolated examples – they’re typical examples. What a sad commentary on our society: We’re surprised when a product performs the way it’s been advertised to perform.

I’ve used Microsoft Word enough to know that I shouldn’t expect any miracles. But then, Word didn’t have the running start WordPerfect did, so I can’t be as annoyed or disappointed. Tomorrow will be brighter. See how right Shakespeare was when he wrote, “Sweet are the uses of adversity”?

But on the other hand, he also wrote, “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”