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I’ve finally realized that I’ve been traumatized by customer service
Why I loathe letting strangers do anything for me
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Last week, I had an epiphany after I hung up a phone on one of my least favorite customer service lines. The entity that handles the state government money I am allocated for developmental disability services had called me to tell me about a “mandatory” training because I somehow have been unable to reset my password on their shitty client portal. As soon as I picked up the phone, not only was I deadnamed by a member of their staff for the umpteenth time despite legally changing my name and gender marker two years ago and sending over a copy of the court order, but the Siri-like voice on the other end also managed to ask to speak to my “guardian” (spoiler: I haven’t had one for almost 10 years now). Begrudgingly, I hobbled through the interaction as I felt like I was experiencing a real-life version of the HumancentiPad. An institutional power behind the scenes had set up a financially desperate victim of capitalism to fail miserably at a minimum wage job they likely aren’t a good fit for and forced me to interact with and blame said person to accomplish a need.
