Robot Road Rage? Affirmative!

Now, before any robot anti-defamation groups start up with the angry cards and letters, let me make one thing clear: I love robots.

I’m a geek. Of course, I love robots and artificial lifeforms of all types. Data from “Star Trek: The Next Generation?” He’s great. The robot dog K-9 from “Doctor Who?” I’d love to have a robot dog. (Seriously. If you can get me one, call me.)

But robocalls, especially from politicians? No, thank you.

Massachusetts is running a primary today to fill the Senate seat of the late Edward Kennedy. Not surprisingly, there are a lot of contenders eager to stake their claim. And all of them have my phone number.

I’ve had robocalls from every single candidate and several of their cronies, ranging up to President Bill Clinton and down to a minor state rep I’d never even heard of before. Are these calls influencing my vote? Darn tootin’. I’m so fed up I’m considering writing in Pat Paulsen.

I’ve been writing about marketing for way too long for my own good, so I get the concept behind the automated calls. But one has to wonder whether they piss off more voters than they convert. Sure, real people making the calls costs more. But there’s a lot to be said for the personal touch.

Then again, it helps if the real person on the phone doesn’t act like a robot, as a guy I talked to from Visa last night did.

After I picked up my kids from school, I ran a few quick errands. First I filled my car with gas, paying at the self serve pump with my Visa card. Then I ran into the supermarket to pick up a few items, and again tried to pay by Visa. “Card denied?” Hmmm. I tried again, and then paid by another card so I could get home.

A half hour later as I made dinner, the phone rang. An automated call from Visa informed me that there had been some “suspicious activity” on my card they needed me to confirm. Okay. The activity was a “preapproved transaction at either a gas station or supermarket” in my town.

Well, I had tried both and been denied one, so I needed to talk to a rep. I selected that option, and then waited on hold for five minutes for a live person. When he finally came on the line, I confirmed that I had tried to make the supermarket purchase.

“Okay, I’ll approve that and put it through for you now.”

Um, no thanks. I explained that I paid with another card, since for some silly reason they wouldn’t let me take the groceries home without paying then and there.

“Oh,” said the rep, sounding confused that I had another card.

By the way, I asked in a friendly way, could you tell me why this transaction raised a red flag, since I shop at that particular store at least three times a week, so this is clearly not unusual activity?

“I’m not authorized to disclose that information,” the rep said very gravely.

Huh? What do you mean you’re “not authorized to disclose” to me information about my own card? Is there a fraud ring operating in my neighborhood or something?

“No, it could just be a glitch in the terminal at the supermarket or a computer error,” he said.

Oh, that’s cool. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place? “Not authorized to disclose” makes it sound like there’s something devious going on, y’know, I said with a laugh.

The line goes silent for a moment. Then the rep launches into a scripted speech about fraud protection. I was tempted to ask if someone had just hit his reset button, but figured another lame joke might fry his motherboard or something.

Here’s to the human touch