Culturalism · Economic History

Lighting The Path

Every time Daylight Saving Time (DST) rolls around, you reliably hear complaints. The practice is antiquated, pointless, obnoxious, and can easily cause someone to oversleep. We might as well get rid of it, pursuing the objective of simplifying matters and eliminating all chance that someone forgets. After all, we have plenty of light.

Yet some would argue that happy glow remains under-appreciated. The bolstering principle behind DST is to conserve daylight hours during the winter, when the sun sets sooner than in warmer months. Back when people had to rely on meager lanterns or the hearth for light, they were severely limited in terms of what could be accomplished once those natural glows receded. Readers or writers had to “save it for later,” and farmers could not perform certain tasks in the dead of night. In other words, nature was a significant obstacle for everyday life.

Today we are blessed to think nothing of such inconveniences. All one must do is flip a switch, and crisp, if not as pleasing, artificial light floods the room. Productivity can continue, well past 5:30pm on a winter’s day, and long through the night.

But how many truly value or appreciate this dynamic? I routinely encounter folks who sleep 10-12 hours a day, spending the remaining time in preparation for work or consuming some byproduct of Hollyweird while immersed in almost pitch darkness, save for the television screen’s glow. These are the same organisms who bray and squeal over DST, because it is an inconvenience, albeit the sort that would seem immaterial to their waking and moving lives. Few among them even own a traditional watch or clock which must be reset, so the complaint is usually about not being mentally prepared to sleep longer.  

The species at-large, particularly those of us living in developed countries, seem to disregard the benefits of modernity, perhaps because we have so little stake in it. Wasting time, itself a complicated matter to explain, bears with it minimal consequence. Sure, you may be forced to slam the gas pedal and get into work with minutes to spare, but nothing fundamentally changes. There is no race against the harvest date for subsistence farming, or need to consolidate academic research under the sun before candles are the sole option. Just vapid floating on a pool of nondescript boredom.

Now then, go set those watches, if you have any.

Culturalism

How Technology Destroys Customer Service

“Dynamic technology is changing our lives for the better.”

We have all heard something along these lines over the past two decades. First it was the Internet.com, then smartphones, now smart everything. The oft-celebrated Internet of Things is forecast to make existence more convenient, less time-consuming, and more user-friendly.

Sure, tech has created positive change and unified people across the world. It has given us new industries, aspirations, and means of communication. All one must do is dream, and type in a Google search.

But there is something else: the wondrous change has  allowed corporations to turn a middle finger to the individual consumer. The customer is no longer “right” in our world; as an entity we hardly exist. In fact, we remain little more than a credit card swipe and a flicker of lights in the data center’s tower aisle.

I was thinking about this yesterday as I picked out an appliance for my new house. Being the deal-sensitive person I am, I went on the Bank of America app to change my cashback category to home improvement stores. After all, why not get twenty bucks back on a sizable purchase?

As it turned out, the app did not permit me to change the category, and advised logging in to online banking, which I did. On the website, I received a message saying I needed to use to app to change the category, or login to online banking. Obviously, neither option worked.

Feeling rather annoyed, I tried using “Erica,” the virtual assistant. When I inquired about the category change, she feigned digital ignorance by asking me to repeat the question. BOA’s customer service number was no better, leading me through a maze of menu options before claiming to “not understand” the request.

You might say this is a one off, but I’m seeing it regularly. Last year I booked an appointment with Best Buy to have a remote start installed in my rover. I paid the fee, got numerous reminder emails, and drove almost an hour to the GeekSquad bay. The door was locked, and no one answered the phone. After finally getting in touch with the manager, she bluntly announced that her technician had quit the previous week.

Instead of exploding, I calmly called Best Buy’s customer service, where I ended up speaking with five different representatives, each holding unique titles and demanding I repeat the story over again, before they made up an excuse to transfer me. I was stonewalled continuously, and eventually disconnected from the “Customer Care Manager” who could barely speak English.

Around the same time frame, I ordered a video game on Amazon as a Christmas present for a family member. After my other items showed up, I saw that the game was delayed by almost a month. I promptly attempted to contact Amazon and cancel the order. Like with the others, I was led through an endless maze of virtual assistants, disconnected numbers, and general indifference. All for something that should have been a simple, one-click solution.

Of course one cannot email any of these companies anymore, because they don’t want a paper trail if the underlings screw up and promise something they refuse to afford.  At best you’ll get to use chat, or maybe a 1-800 number. How joyous.

But at least we have “smart” refrigerators.