At the ISP call centre: 'Can you help me?'

A day in the life of an ISP's call centre, as told to Chris Mellor

"Thank you for calling the BT Openworld Broadband Helpdesk. Can I have either your ADSL line number..."

It's 10am and I'm taking my first call of the week. Halfway through the "salutation" my customer starts talking.

"The thing is I've got a bit of a problem and..." I persist: "...or a reference number if you've called here previously?"

There is a pause as this information sinks in.

"Oh! That would be..." He gives a number which I tap into the relevant database. "Mr Smith?" I ask.

I now have to make sure that it really is Mr Smith that I am talking to and not an interloper claiming to be him in order to obtain his password to access his e-mails and blackmail him with the threat of revealing to his wife the details of a sordid affair.

Sound improbable? It's happened. Last year, I took a call from someone demanding "their" password but after looking into the records I found that we had already been alerted by the nervous philanderer warning of a possible attempt by a third party – in this case a private detective – to obtain his password for just such a purpose.

"What seems to be the matter then, Mr Smith?" A pause.

"Well. You see. It's like this. Er. Well, I reckon I must have picked up a virus or something because every time I get on the net I go straight to a pornographic site and I don't know how to stop it!" There. He's said it. In the privacy of the Helpdesk confessional.

A couple of months ago, our chief executive reduced the price of the "Plug and Go" Broadband service by £10 to £29. Our independent marketing analysts predicted a 100-150 per cent increase in orders. What we got was in excess of 600 per cent, and a corresponding increase in the amount of calls to the Helpdesk. Problems we couldn't solve passed to the faults department. The much-vaunted, 48-hour clear-up time turned into 72 and then 96 hours.

After dealing with the faults, it is time for my first break – 15 minutes logged off. Woe betide you, though, if you are a couple of seconds late. Your every second in the centre is monitored by the all-seeing software that runs the place, and disciplinary action may result. At least the coffee's free.

We are employed by a Scottish recruitment agency called Search plc, but the centre is run by ClientLogic, a Canada-based worldwide supplier of call-centre facilities. As such, we get no contributory pension, no sickness scheme other than that provided by Her Majesty's Government, and none of the perks enjoyed by BT staff proper.

The next customer makes me feel as though I'm doing a worthwhile job. Mrs Adams is into her retirement and has just bought her first computer. An all-singing, all-dancing machine that cost her the thick end of £2,000 on Saturday. Now, on Monday morning, she is trying to connect to the net.

It becomes clear that Mrs Adams doesn't know her left click from her right click, or her floppy from her CD-Rom. We're fighting a losing battle. A quick check on the net finds that her local authority runs some introductory IT courses just down the road from her, so I put her on hold and call the contact number. Three minutes later, I am able to give her the dates and times of the courses, as well as the name of the very nice trainer who will be holding them. A few days later, I receive an e-mail from her saying that her course is going very well, and that she has decided to send her first e-mail to me. I feel honoured.