I paid him three-and-a-half lira for his trouble, 16 kuruş over the fare showing on the meter. I could have thanked him for the advice, but instead, noting his style of driving, I told him that steering with one hand increases the risk of an accident. That’s according to studies I imagine have been conducted at a prestigious traffic safety institute in Sweden.My right foot was on the ground when he decided to chastise me for talking on my phone during our short trip, either that or he was determined to get in the last word. Or maybe he just wanted to unsettle me. “Cell phones cause brain tumors,” he said.
I’d been sweating before I got in the car and had enjoyed the cool respite from the heat and humidity; nonetheless, I pointed to his dashboard and said that air conditioning causes rheumatism, that he might get arthritis sitting in that artificial breeze all day.
He replied that since I’d been sitting there with the door open for five minutes I must be very concerned for his health, that the sooner I closed the door the sooner we would find out who was right.
Some jinn made me hold out my hand. “What’s that for?” he asked. “My change,” I answered. He fished around in his little glass bowl by the gearshift and pulled out a subway token: “Here. Try the metro next time, it might help you lose weight.”
But I’m not fat, I told him. “You never know,” he said. I got out, closed the door and let him have the last word. I think the heat was getting to both of us. Still, I didn’t like his remark about me not being a “real” customer. Last week I asked a taxi driver whether he minded going only two kilometers and he just shrugged, said he drove wherever people wanted to go. Now that’s customer service.
Turkcell sent me a message for about the 100th time informing me that if I didn’t want to receive a printed invoice in the mail… they would pay me. Yes, I could talk free on Sundays for a whole month if I only sent an SMS (stands for short message service) to number 2222.
There are only two problems: One, I don’t like to use the phone on Sundays; and two, the message they want me to send is not short. All I’d have to do is type out “faturaistemiyorum” and send the message. Unfortunately, I suffer from SKP (small keyboard phobia), a handicap that prevents me from taking advantage of the almost free offer.
If I’m being honest with myself, a useful habit, I have to admit that it comes as something of a cheap thrill making the only Turkish company listed on the New York Stock Exchange get down and dirty with paper and ink. And postage. My lazy insistence on receiving the invoice could also be seen in the light of public service, my way of supporting our beloved PTT in this age of electronic mail and messaging.
After all, the printed bill is the only physical relationship I have with my mobile service provider, aside from the intangible microwave signals. And it’s a sterile relationship at that, for I rarely see my mailman.
For all the awkward moments, I still prefer relating to the taxi driver I can see than to the giant corporation I can only sense. Turkcell’s hinted that I’m not a real customer, but they’d never come out and say it. Maybe the customer relationship managers at Turkcell could learn something from my taxi driver: Put some attitude in your communications. Most of us know in our heart of hearts that we are being beaten by the system. Who knows but that a majority of us might respect the company for being open with the fact?
