My breaking point? Being on hold for 2 hours and 27 minutes

The following is a real-time account of my descent into madness while recently on hold with an insurance company.

Monday 7am: In the long list of things I’d like to be doing at 7am on a Monday, calling a car insurance company to sort out a relatively minor issue is way down the bottom. Thankfully, the call centre operating hours are 7am–7pm, so I should be first in line, and then I can move on to doing literally anything else. The phone rings, which is a great sign, but just as my hopes begin to rise, a polite-sounding voice informs me of the following: “We are currently experiencing longer than usual wait times.”

After 2 hours and 27 minutes of agonising hold music, I should hang up, yet a single thought keeps me on the line: what if I’m next? Credit: Michael Howard

I explain to the automated voice that it is impossible. I must’ve been one of the first callers of the day! Sadly, they don’t respond but instead inform me that my call is important and that my patience is appreciated.

7.23am: The appreciated patience is beginning to wane, although I have allegedly moved forward in the queue. How long the queue is and where I am precisely in it remains a mystery, but the knowledge that I am progressing lifts my spirits. So, too, does the upbeat instrumental version of Stairway To Heaven that has been playing on the loudspeaker for 23 minutes.

7.57am: No significant changes to report. I remain on hold, although the call centre DJ has moved on from Stairway to Heaven and is now playing classical music; I believe it is Chopin’s Nocturne No. 8 in D-flat Major. Apparently, classical music creates a calming effect on the listener due to the release of dopamine, the body’s natural happy chemical that improves a person’s mood and blocks the release of stress. This is something I Google while on hold.

8.30am: The classical music is doing nothing for my increasingly foul mood. Perhaps pre-empting this shift in vibe, the automated voice returns briefly to warn me that they do not accept abusive, threatening or violent language and that we all deserve to be treated with courtesy and respect. They also float the idea of completing a quick customer satisfaction questionnaire at the end of the call. Respectfully, this is probably a bad time to pose that question, but I agree, encouraged by any discussion of this call being over.

8.45am: My wife texts me and asks if we have milk in the fridge. She’s pretty sure we do, but she wants me to double-check. Reception is patchy in my apartment, and I can’t risk changing locations and the call dropping out, so I say no. She asks why not, and I say I’ll explain later. She says I am so annoying.

8.47am: I run to the fridge, check the milk (we have some), and rush back, only to learn I am still on hold.

9am: No amount of smooth jazz can smooth over the fact that it’s been two hours, and I’ve made no progress. Desperate to regain some form of control, I decide to hang up if no one answers in the next five minutes. You may not take my call, but you cannot take my time.

9.10am: Ten minutes have passed, and I can’t shake the feeling that I am close now. I must be; I can sense it. Either way, I can’t hang up; they know it, and I know it. I’ve committed so much of my morning to this godforsaken phone call; the only option is to soldier on. This is a classic example of the Sunk Cost Fallacy: our tendency to follow through on something that we’ve already invested heavily in (be it time, money, effort, emotional energy, etc.), even when giving up, is clearly a better idea. This is another thing I Google while on hold.

Your call is not important to us. It never was, and it never will be.Credit: Michael Howard

9.15am: The automated voice checks back in to remind me that all the operators are busy (indeed!), but they can hold my place in the queue and call me back. This suggestion feels two hours too late, and I say, NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO! In a last-ditch attempt to offload my query, they point me towards the live chatbot on their website, which “can handle most simple inquiries”.

9.17am: No matter how I phrase my inquiry, the live chatbot replies, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Eventually, I lash out, marking my first fight with AI.

9.27am: A man named Scott answers the phone and apologises for the wait. I’m so glad to hear a voice that I tell him it’s completely fine and hasn’t been that long, really. It’s been 2 hours and 27 minutes.

9.32am Scott has my issue sorted in five minutes. He’s so polite and helpful that I immediately feel bad for all the awful thoughts I had about anyone associated with this company over the last two and a half hours. He says, “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” I pause. A long silence stretches out between us. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” I can’t help but reply.

Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at [e-mail] or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.

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