By Angela Gunn, Betanews
If there was a more remarkable idea circulating in the gadget-head community back in January than Palm's got a scorching-hot new phone on the way, it was, "And they chose Sprint as the launch partner".
Seriously, Sprint? Necessary only-major-mobile-provider-in-the-heartland evil to tens of thousands of mobile-phone users? Whatever Dan Hesse was saying about customer service in those moodily lit black-and-white commercials, the prospect of putting Sprint in charge of selling the odd, pretty, pricey little Palm Pre was wince-inducing.
But if there's anything sweeter than a comeback story, it's two comeback stories. And so many observers took heart from reports that Sprint was intent on being in fighting trim for the launch -- special training for in-store device "advocates," the ReadyNow no-customer-left-behind push, and so forth. Among those observers was your reporter, a Sprint customer for over a decade who would really, really like her mobile provider to not screw this up.
So the Pre has been out for a little over two weeks, and I've had mine in hand for a week. Every hope I had for the handset has been met -- it's a joy to use, a beauty, the One True Phone that's likely to have me abandoning my long-suffering Sidekicks after all these years. I await more toys in the Apps Store and I wish battery life were better, but it was worth the wait.
And after seeing Sprint's execution on its end of the bargain, I wish I'd waited 'til next year and gotten it from Verizon. After the promises of better customer service in general and laser-like focus on the Pre experience in particular, Sprint seems to be not just as bad as ever but -- due to the phone's unique nature -- just a bit worse.
Let me tell you about my Pre buying experience. Settle in, honey.
Act One: In which we seek a rare gadget and end up in the food court
The calendar over my desk has a big red circle around June 14, and FREE FROM B'BERRY! written in the box. The Pearl was never a good match for me, with its tiny screen and peculiar keypad, but I wanted to give it precisely a year from the date I purchased it -- to be sure I get whatever rebates might apply, and to give the local Sprint stores a chance to restock their Pre supplies after the launch on June 6. I'm not buying "a new phone," after all -- I've already made my decision, even handled an early prototype, and I'm waiting for precisely that phone.
But it's June 14, and the Sprint store downtown is still out of Pres. But I call around, and I find one at the Sprint kiosk at the big mall in my part of town.
This is where it all goes wrong. (And yet you've so much article ahead of you!) What I didn't know then is that, although Sprint had big things to say about how customer service on the Pre would be of unparalleled quality, with in-store "advocates" specially trained on the device, the fact is that the system only applies to the company stores, and I'm heading toward a kiosk. Though it carries Sprint branding, sells Sprint phones, and hands me Sprint contracts to sign, a kiosk is not an official Sprint entity.
I'm going to suffer for not knowing this.
The mall is jumping on a late Sunday afternoon, and the food court (which is where the kiosk is located) sounds like a school lunchroom with no monitors to shush the rowdies. There's a line at the kiosk and one salesgirl working, so I content myself with people-watching and get to the desk in about 40 minutes. Dessetta, the salesgirl, is a little rushed -- she has staff training in about an hour, and the other clerk on duty has disappeared into the sunlight outside -- but I know the phone I want, so we get right down to business.
At this point I should mention two things: 1. I share a mondo-minutes account with a few of my relatives back home, and 2. My brother used to work for Sprint, years ago. Dessetta and I were talking about that while she set up my phone, because all those phone lines can be confusing. I cautioned her to watch out for the other Angela on the account -- my family has a shocking lack of imagination when it comes to names -- and repeated my number, which begins with an area code different from the others on the account.
We wrapped up the sale. I asked about a buyback for my hated BlackBerry, and Dessetta's manager -- he'd wandered over late in the process -- said he could give me $20 store credit, but with no TouchStone chargers available yet (the only other thing I wanted) I should probably just wait and come back. The kiosk doesn't have any special screen protectors for the phone, but Dessetta sells me a five-pack of those trim-your-own protectors. I promise Dessetta that if Sprint's customer-satisfaction people phoned me I would indeed give her "a five" (the system's top rating), and I took my phone to a quiet corner to start checking it out.
“By the time I buy my next Pre, I'll be buying it from Verizon...because if this is Sprint's saving throw, it's pretty clear it has failed.”
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Already in our story, things are starting to deviate from the script. In theory, had I been at a real Sprint store (instead of a shop that simply has signage like, offers products like, and enters into legal contracts like one) I would have been trained on the phone, to be sure I know how to use all the cool features. ReadyNow, they call it.
However, I didn't think much of that omission; I made it clear that I knew a lot about the Pre already, and my overworked salesgirl was in a hurry to close. And so I'm on my own and walking home when the phone rings... the BlackBerry in my bag, the one that should have been deactivated. My Pre, in my hand, is silent. I check the configuration on the Pre. It's set to my brother's phone number.
My brother is in Nebraska, but as of the moment Dessetta configured my Pre, his phone is effectively in Seattle.
I might want to look into that.
Act Two: In which we are helped by kindly faceless individuals
I call my brother on his house phone and explain the problem. After the momentary weirdness of seeing his own phone come up on Caller ID, we work out that tech support will probably need to speak to both of us, since (again) we all share an account. I call in. I get cut off. I call back. I get "Michael." "Michael" -- I've changed his name -- is going to be the only bright spot of this story, so pay attention.
Michael's a funny guy, and he thinks I'm funny too; Michael and my brother can bond over Sprint work life, so they've got that going for them. The fix is a bit tricky; I have to shut off my phone (and borrow my housemate's; mine is not a landline house), we have to reset parts of the account, we have a lot to do... and as Michael tells us, he's not really trained on the Pre. Tech support has, he says, been told to send callers asking about the Pre directly to the stores, and he warns me that anything he does might cause problems when I file for the $100 mail-in rebate on this $300 phone. But he understands why my brother and I might not want to wait for Monday morning to get the phone number confusion straightened out, and so 85 minutes later, my brother's number rings on his phone in Nebraska, not mine in Seattle.
That fixes the urgent problem, but the Pre still isn't working. Michael offers to transfer me from his line in Texas to a higher-level tech support facility in Florida. He does... and the call drops again. I call back a third time, get transferred again to another tech, who tells me that to do the tech support we'd have to use Sprint's online chat function, which has just shut down for the night. Call back tomorrow.
If I can't play with the pretty new phone, I can at least start trimming down screen protectors to put on it. After a couple of tries at getting the openings located correctly and the curved corners right, I give up and leave on the light plastic film it shipped with.
Entr'acte: In which we are cast out into the wide world
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to send you to the store. We can't do anything from here," said the person on the other end of the tech-support line. "We're not trained on the Pre. Take it on in and they can fix this right away."
"Should I go back to the kiosk, or should I go downtown to the big store?"
"Well, I can't actually say, but..."
"I should go to the store, in other words."
The faintest of chuckles. "Good luck, ma'am."
NEXT: "My Name is Nobody"...
Act Three: In which our true enemy is revealed
The Sprint store in downtown Seattle is an ordinary Sprint storefront, with salespeople up front and a tech-support area in the back. And, unlike the kiosk, this store participates in the ReadyNow no-customer-left-behind program. I headed toward the counter at the back and explained my situation... or started to, anyway.
"Stop," the salesgirl said. Let's call her Heidi, since that's what her nametag said. "I don't need to know any of this. What's your phone number?" I gave her the number and she walked back to have the tech folk reset the phone. They hand the phone back after a few minutes, and Heidi's holding it in her hands. I ask a couple of questions about how things have been going with the Pre in general, but Heidi's not a conversationalist. Instead, she's holding my phone and staring off into space.
She's bored. I'm bored. She pokes at a few buttons, mumbles something about not knowing what's supposed to happen, and starts pecking at my Pre with her long acrylic nails -- first tapping the keypad, then pulling at the protective plastic film.
I clear my throat. "I'm leaving that on there for now. Do you know if they'll be selling any protective sheets? I don't want to scratch --"
An explosive sigh indicates that this too is not necessary information, but she quits picking at the plastic.
"Hey, I have my old BlackBerry with me. What are you guys offering for sellback rates?"
"$10."
"Oh. When will you have more Touchstones?"
"I don't know." Another explosive sigh.
The phone activates; I'm sent on my way with both Pre and BlackBerry. Heidi recites the mandatory request for a "5" customer-service rating. I mumble back and head for Starbucks.
I reloaded the applications I'd already spotted in the Apps Store -- Pandora check, FlightView check, Tweed very check -- and go into the messaging screen to alert my friends as to my good fortune.
I have no friends. At least, I have no friends in my Pre. The address book is missing; the reset deleted it, and the only remaining copy is in -- I check -- the much-maligned BlackBerry.
And now I'm back to the store, and it's almost exactly 24 hours since I started attempting to give Sprint my money for a working Pre, and my good humor is at an end.
“Though it carries Sprint branding, sells Sprint phones, and hands me Sprint contracts to sign, a kiosk is not an official Sprint entity.”
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Heidi sees me coming. The girl may be rude and possessed of questionable fashion sense, but I get the idea she's pretty familiar with the look of someone wanting to put a foot up her ass. She gets extremely busy with looking at the carpet and speaking in run-on sentences to the couple standing near the empty former Touchstone display, who are visibly startled by the sudden loquaciousness.
The tech-support counter behind the Plexiglass empties out like Main Street in a bad Western. I cool my heels there for about 10 minutes, at one point playing with the computers on the desk -- what, was someone going to come over and stop me? they'd have to talk to me then, and I have a store full of people who clearly don't want to do that -- until one of the boy salesclerks walks over.
I notice he's removed his nametag.
I explain, with that snippy-teacher-lady tone I do exceedingly well, that this phone (holding up Pre) needs to have this phone's (holding up BlackBerry) address book transferred. Now. Nameless takes the phone back and finds a tech. I go to the front of the store and sprawl across a few chairs, making notes for this article, because I love you and I wouldn't want you to feel you missed a step on this long and winding road.
It takes about ten minutes, and I'm now more curious than annoyed. Nameless returns, holding the phone at arm's length. I would have too.
"Look," I said. "Frankly, this has been a horrible customer service experience. Isn't Sprint supposed to have a store advocate trained on the Pre specifically? Who should I have talked to when I walked in here?"
Nameless shifts his weight. "We're all equally trained. The problem is that you bought at a non-Sprint store."
"I bought at a Sprint kiosk."
"That's not a store. We're a store."
"But when I walked in here and asked for tech support, like I was told to do when I called tech support, I got the impression that Heidi" -- at this point Nameless makes the tiniest of involuntary movements to shield the spot where his nametag should have been -- "has no idea how the phone works. And I certainly shouldn't have had to come back to get the phone book transferred. What should I have done to have made this experience go more smoothly? And aren't you guys a ReadyNow store?"
"If you have questions about the phone I have a phone number at Palm. You can call them."
For every reporter, there comes a point on certain stories where the situation's descending trend line intersects with the rising trend line of sheer ridiculousness. I looked at Nameless, working at a job I know from my brother's stories is simply wretched. I looked at my phone and -- having finally learned something useful from all this drama -- checked to see that it is indeed on the correct number and has the correct address book. I looked back at Nameless and knew I wouldn't be getting that callback about my "Sprint experience" today, or yesterday, or at all.
And I smiled, because my Pre rocks, and because there's nothing more unnerving than an angry, smiling customer.
And because thanks to the Web, I know I can get my Pre's protective skin from BodyGuardz, a nice quick-tips guide from PreCentral, and a decent conversation about my phone from any number of sources.
And because by the time I buy my next Pre, I'll be buying it from Verizon. (Haven't decided yet whether to brave a kiosk.)
I'll be buying it from Verizon, and Nameless, surly Heidi, sweet-but-overworked Dessetta, and CEO Dan Hesse will all be looking for new jobs, because if this is Sprint's saving throw, it's pretty clear it has failed. With Verizon available in Alltel's territories when that merger's completed in a few months, many of Sprint's traditional no-one-else-wants-them customers suddenly have choices. And with the first few weeks of numbers in, Palm sees now that sometimes comeback stories can only support one plot line.
I hope Michael lands okay. He deserves to prosper. Sprint, not so much.
Copyright Betanews, Inc. 2009