My assignment from SAM: schedule a winter vacation for the family, but do it over the phone. This should be easy. After all, I have a family and we go on vacations. Plus, new technology has brought us the efficiency and convenience of voice mail and phone answering systems, right? Wrong.
After calling resorts all over North America, I found that new technology can be a blessing or, just as easily, drive a curious customer to tears. And in some cases, humans weren’t much better. In my investigation, I called and asked straightforward questions about lift ticket prices, ski schools and room reservations—nothing spectacular. Sounds simple, right? Here’s what happened as I tried to book a family ski vacation in North America before the season started.
I started by randomly selecting ski areas from the September issue of Snow Country. Beginning with Whistler, B.C., the magazine’s top-rated resort in the west, I called and encountered the typical automated answering system. I had to squelch my impulse to keep punching the “O” until a human answered, and instead paid close attention to all the options, although I needed a pen and paper to keep track of them. I wove my way through the fiber-optic web until the voice became a synthesized piece-meal message offering to fax the information to me—something Jane Doe may not have at her disposal. Because I was on a mission, I opted for it. The voice said goodbye and the connection was cut off. No option on the automated answering system ever offered the choice of speaking to a human or trying another option.
The fax machine started up immediately and began spewing out paper. Within six minutes I was reading a seven-page fax from Whistler. Efficient, yes, but my first question—”How much are your lift tickets?”—was not answered in the fax. Plus it seemed like a technological cop-out to set up an automated system instead of hiring a human to answer questions; it lacked warmth.
Next, I dialed Lake Louise, Alberta, rated #17 by Snow Country. There was no 1-800 number, so I called the phone number listed for “Information and Reservations.” A human male answered, speaking so fast that the only recognizable word was, “Bonjour.”
I asked for the lift ticket price and he replied, “Sorry, but I can’t give you that information. You’ve called the information line.” The irony of his statement was not lost on me. I asked, “Information about what?” and he answered, “Banff National Park!” (in a tone that implied I should have known where I called. I suppose if I could have understood his greeting I would have known that.)
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied. “I’ve never been there. So is this the number to make room reservations?”
“No!” he said impatiently. “That would be Travel Alberta at blahblahblah.”
I automatically apologized. “Oh, sorry. I thought this was an information and reservations number.”
“It is, but you will have to call the ski area for ticket prices . . .again, you have called the information line,” he answered, in that tone of voice one saves for humoring small children. It took me only two minutes on the phone with this guy to feel like an annoying, misguided tourist stumbling around in a haze of ignorance. I called the ski area number he gave me. An English-speaking female answered, “Ski Louise?”
Knowing that many Canadians end sentences to sound like questions, I resisted the temptation to say, “Yes, that would be great!” and kept going.
“Hi, how much are your lift tickets for next year?”
“Well, let me see… it was $45 last year, So maybe it’s $46 or $47 next year . . .” I wondered if we were negotiating what she would sell them to me for. “Let me double check to see if we have that,” she said, and put me on hold.
She came back with the answer, “Okay, here it is: it will be $46 for an adult.”
“And how much for a child?” I responded.
“Fifteen dollars.”
“What ages are under the child rate?”
“Six to twelve.”
“What about under six?”
“It doesn’t say anything about under six, so… I don’t know, I guess maybe it’s free?” There we were, negotiating again.
I continued, “So where do you stay to ski at Lake Louise?”
“Well,” she replied, “there are no rooms here because the ski area is on park grounds, so you will have to call 522-3833.” Oh, no—that was the number of the “mis”-information line I had just called.
Unbelieving, I asked, “Is that the number I call to get room information?” I had to confirm this, because Mr. Information had already told me that was the wrong number for reservations.
“Yeeees,” she answered, in a tone meaning, “That’s what I said, lady.”
I hung up, having come full circle. Two long-distance phone calls and no information except to call the same number that sent me in the wrong direction in the first place.
Gamely, I plodded on. I called back the information line and, luckily, Mr. Friendly didn’t answer. After his colleague told me that the ski area was misinformed to have given me their number for reservations, he gave me several other numbers to try.
The first number was for Banff Central Reservations, where I entered an automated system that went through the options very fast. I guessed option five and, when a woman answered the phone, I said, “Hi, I would like some information on rooms so I can ski at Lake Louise this winter.”
“You only want to ski at Lake Louise?” she asked. “Sunshine Village and Norquay Ski Area are here, too.”
I stuck to my original request. “Oh, well, I kind of wanted to ski at Lake Louise.”
“Well,” she answered, “you can buy a tri-area pass that would be good at all three areas.”
“What about a Lake Louise ticket only?”
” I can’t do that because we are owned by Sunshine,” she explained. ” I can sell you Sunshine-only tickets that would be less expensive or you could buy the tri-area pass.”
“How much is the difference?”
“It depends on when you are coming and for how long.”
“If you have some discounted special packages I would be interested.”
She asked me several questions about the makeup of the group I was bringing and put me on hold to check prices. Now I was getting somewhere.
Two minutes and thirty seconds later, she came back. “That price would be $695 for adults and $55 for children.”
“Okay,” I said. “Could you please send me some information about skiing at Lake Louise and staying in your area?”
Exasperated, she replied, “No! I can’t send you any Lake Louise information because we are owned by Sunshine. If you want that information you will have to call Travel Alberta.I ‘ll send you information on our lodging and skiing at Sunshine, though. Give me your name and address.”
I had been making long distance out-of-the-country phone calls for nearly half an hour and I was beginning to feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, repeating my mantra, “Lake Louise, Lake Louise.” And what did I have to show for it? Information on Sunshine and staying in Banff. And let’s not forget those handy information numbers to Banff National Park and Alberta. I did get the new lift ticket prices, but I had also found out that if I skied at Sunshine I would get a better deal. On to the United States.
In the eastern U.S., I am glad to report that humans answer the phones most of the time… except in the case of Killington, Vt., voted #2 in Snow Country. My first attempt to call left me in limbo after two rings—no answering machine, no voice. Just silence. After hanging on for one minute, I realized that I must have been cut off.
My next attempt was not much more user-friendly. After two rings, a human male spouted off something unintelligible in a fast, clipped voice, so I asked him to confirm that I had reached Killington Ski Resort. When he informed me that, yes, this was Killington, I asked him how much the lift tickets would be this year.
He replied, “$51.45,” then I followed with another question about special rates for families. He said that there may be a family week, but he didn’t know when it would be and to call back in late September.
He was about to leave the line—I could just feel it. Even so, I kept asking annoying questions. Each subsequent question was cut off by his anxious-to-get-off-the-phone friendliness. (Maybe his bladder was about to burst.) My last question about where to stay turned him into a human robot: “I-have-113-properties-ranging-from-motels-to-condos-let-me-send-you-some-information-your-address . . .” It wasn’t phrased as a question or tagged with “please,” but from the void at the end, I guessed that I should respond with my name and address. Then he hung up without so much as a “thank you.”
Jay Peak, Vt., led me to some very pleasant conversations with two humans who gave me accurate information in friendly tones. One woman asked me how I heard about Jay Peak and, when I responded “Snow Country’s September issue,” she replied, “Hey—all right! Thanks for calling!” Now I felt all warm and fuzzy.
Everyone else I called in my random sampling of the East was pretty friendly and gave me good information. On to the Rockies.
Beaver Creek, Colo., my alma mater. I went through the usual options on the automated answering system. (One of which was “Press four if you wish to make a deposit”—I think I’ll add that to my own voice mail recording.) I whiled away the minutes waiting for the “next available agent” thinking back on the good ol’ days at the Beav. Finally, an attendant came on and answered my question about lift ticket prices. When I asked about special family discount packages, he gave me the number for season passes and qualified that with, “I don’t sell tickets, just the tickets you get if you are buying a room. Call that number if you want more information.” Pretty cold.
Then there was Steamboat, Colo. It started out the same old automated way: lots of recorded options for groups, season pass information and existing reservations. Finally, however, I got connected to a real person. I asked my questions and thought I was about to be shoved into the mailing list pile again when she said, “If you want I can send you some information or I can help you now.” NOW? Wow!
She had answers to my questions and followed those up with her own questions to find out the specifics of my vacation plans, offering information on things like a special snow saver time in March when I could save 10 percent. It was businesslike and very informative. Then she burped—pretty loud, too.
She became a human suddenly, laughing and apologizing as she explained that she had just come from a big BBQ welcome lunch that Steamboat Ski Corporation gave for new employees every fall.
She was very polite in answering my questions and offered more information on room locations, ski school and shuttle bus loops, talking animatedly about how much fun the kids had in ski school. Then she described other options for family activities that Steamboat offered, told me about room ratings and even suggested not getting a room where the kids would have to cross a busy road. She tuned right into my concerns for child safety and entertainment. I was sold, but told her that I’d just like to get some information. She took my address and ended with, “We’ll look forward to seeing you in Steamboat this winter, Mary.”
Most of the resorts in the Rockies and the Far West answered with recorded services listing up to seven options. In some cases the options were only given after I had wasted valuable long-distance minutes enduring a variety of marketing messages. In many of them, I couldn’t back out to get to other information, but usually I could get to a live attendant, depending on how far into the system I was. I spent a lot of time on hold, listening to everything from Bob Marley to Michael Jackson singing about Ben, his pet rat. Sometimes all I got was options for personnel at the area, if I knew their extension.
At Eldora, Colo., I asked my question about lift ticket prices and the response was unexpected. “I have no idea, ma’am. It hasn’t been determined yet.” He offered no hints as to when it would be available, just an uncomfortable silence as he waited for my next question. I had to gather my wits quickly to ask the next stumper: “Where should I stay when I’m skiing Eldora?”
“Nederland,” came the clipped response.
Taking a wild guess, I asked, “Is that the town’s name?”
“Yes,” he replied, and gave me a 1-800 number for a lodge. Straightforward is one thing; helpful, another.
In the Far West, the 1-800 number for Alpine Meadows, Calif., was answered by the North Lake Tahoe Resort Association. I asked the woman who answered for the lift ticket price at Alpine Meadows and was put on hold. After a minute, she came back and informed me that “the girl who has that information is out to lunch, so you will have to call us back to get that.” Gee—couldn’t she share it?
I had finished my grand telephone tour of North American ski resorts. Overall, the ski industry is aware of the needs of the public, evident in the proliferation of toll-free numbers and phone lines dedicated to information and reservations. It may appear to us in the industry that having those things set up means we are meeting the needs of the customer, but from the outside looking in, our fishbowl is in need of a good cleaning. My overall impression was “just okay.”
Out of all the places I called around the country, most of the time I was only offered the option of receiving a brochure anywhere from 10 days to six weeks later. Here I was, a real, live, warm-bodied customer knocking on their door and I was turned away with only the hope that a brochure would arrive and answer my questions that I was asking TODAY! I wanted to buy TODAY! When the brochure shows up in six weeks and the cold wind is blowing, I’ll be ready to take a cruise vacation.
Usually I was plugged into someone in room reservations who was not at the mountain, did not know or ski the mountain and had no up-to-date information on the ski area. I heard all about rooms— fireplaces, decks, Jacuzzis, kitchens, laundries, wood paneling, sofa sleepers, stocked bars—right down to the color of the carpet, as though the only reason we were going there was to stay in the room. Believe me, some of these people were not selling ski areas. It would seem logical to provide reservationists with new information on the ski area: children’s programs, special ski weeks, new terrain and lifts—something, anything they could use to help sell the ski area, too.
Call the published number for your ski area and see how you can answer the following questions: Are you able to reach a live human being? Can you understand the rapid-fire greeting of the attendant or, because they’ve said your ski area’s name so often, have they reduced it to a garbled polysyllabic string unrecognizable to anyone but themselves? Are they courteous and do they have accurate information? Is the information for your area really at your published information number or, worse (as I found), does the number lead to your competition? Do attendants offer information on special rates or family deals without being asked? Do they talk about special events occurring during the time a customer is thinking about coming? Do they take advantage of positive selling points at this crucial decision-making time with a real, live customer?
Your answers are only a phone call away.
