In my State of North Carolina, the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) is notorious for it's bad customer service. Having lived in the state for a few years, I've developed a strategy for surviving the bureaucracy.
Even after arriving early on a "slow day," Tuesday morning (notably not Monday or Friday), there was already a line snaking outside. Once you reach the inside of the building, you wait in another queue, actually more like a coral. Everything is faded—walls, floors, old dog-eared posters. Even the demeanor of the workers show every lack of enthusiasm. The walls are plastered with signs on what not to do: No Smoking, No Cellphones, No Public Restrooms. There were also reminders that only cash and North Carolina checks were valid forms of payment.
Once you reach the counter, a DMV employee gives you a ticket with a sequence letter/number combination—mine was A111. Next, I sat down in a second holding tank—having luckily found a seat, and waited for my number to be called. Once a number is announced over the loudspeaker, it is repeated incessantly until the "customer" arrives at the designated desk.
Number B113 had to be called half a dozen times. I was having a hard time concentrating on my book, with the repeated barking of letters and numbers. I was reading the book, Emotional Branding, by Marc Gobé. He believes we live in a consumer-oriented marketplace, where brands need to connect with the customers on an emotional level in order to be effective. Ironically the only emotion I was feeling about the DMV was annoyance. After my number was called, I took a small drivers license road sign recognition test, and took a seat in yet another waiting room.
When the uniformed DMV employee called me up to get my picture taken, he told me to sit down on a stool against a wall. Lights came on for what seemed a long time. There was no warning when the picture was being taken, no smile for the camera—it was just, "You're done. Please have a seat back in the waiting room."
A few minutes later this same employee handed me a newly printed drivers license to inspect for accuracy. Well, the name was right, but the picture was of a guy I hardly recognized, with a strange, half-smile. It was obvious he didn't know when the shutter was being released.
"Can I take the picture again?" I asked. "If you want to retake it, you have to go stand in that line." The man motioned over to the desk and holding tank I had just come from.
"No thanks," I said. Great, now I have to live with a license picture I hate for the next eight years! I think I'm starting to feel the emotion of anger.
Even after arriving early on a "slow day," Tuesday morning (notably not Monday or Friday), there was already a line snaking outside. Once you reach the inside of the building, you wait in another queue, actually more like a coral. Everything is faded—walls, floors, old dog-eared posters. Even the demeanor of the workers show every lack of enthusiasm. The walls are plastered with signs on what not to do: No Smoking, No Cellphones, No Public Restrooms. There were also reminders that only cash and North Carolina checks were valid forms of payment.
Once you reach the counter, a DMV employee gives you a ticket with a sequence letter/number combination—mine was A111. Next, I sat down in a second holding tank—having luckily found a seat, and waited for my number to be called. Once a number is announced over the loudspeaker, it is repeated incessantly until the "customer" arrives at the designated desk.
Number B113 had to be called half a dozen times. I was having a hard time concentrating on my book, with the repeated barking of letters and numbers. I was reading the book, Emotional Branding, by Marc Gobé. He believes we live in a consumer-oriented marketplace, where brands need to connect with the customers on an emotional level in order to be effective. Ironically the only emotion I was feeling about the DMV was annoyance. After my number was called, I took a small drivers license road sign recognition test, and took a seat in yet another waiting room.
When the uniformed DMV employee called me up to get my picture taken, he told me to sit down on a stool against a wall. Lights came on for what seemed a long time. There was no warning when the picture was being taken, no smile for the camera—it was just, "You're done. Please have a seat back in the waiting room."
A few minutes later this same employee handed me a newly printed drivers license to inspect for accuracy. Well, the name was right, but the picture was of a guy I hardly recognized, with a strange, half-smile. It was obvious he didn't know when the shutter was being released.
"Can I take the picture again?" I asked. "If you want to retake it, you have to go stand in that line." The man motioned over to the desk and holding tank I had just come from.
"No thanks," I said. Great, now I have to live with a license picture I hate for the next eight years! I think I'm starting to feel the emotion of anger.
Even though I was only able to read a few pages in my book, I learned a lot today.
A lot about customer care. A lot about what not to do.
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1 comment:
Maybe they could up the renewal fee from $12 to $15 and give everybody gourmet coffee.
At least NC doesn't have an infinitebly banal "points system" like NJ. When I got my License I needed to bring 4 of the 6.
Bill
License
Passport
School Id
Social Security Card
ACT Scores
Ok the last one not really, but I only brought a copy of my SS so no license for me that day.
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