The Circle (7 page)

Mae nodded. She liked that:
No robots work here
.

They went through a dozen or so practice scenarios, and Mae polished her answers a
bit more each time. Jared was a patient trainer, and walked her through every customer
eventuality. In the event that she was stumped, she could bounce the query to his
own queue, and he’d take it. That’s what he did most of the day, Jared said—take and
answer the stumpers from the junior Customer Experience reps.

“But those will be pretty rare. You’d be surprised at how many of the questions you’ll
be able to field right away. Now let’s say you’ve
answered a client’s question, and they seem satisfied. That’s when you send them the
survey, and they fill it out. It’s a set of quick questions about your service, their
overall experience, and at the end they’re asked to rate it. They send the questions
back, and then you immediately know how you did. The rating pops up here.”

He pointed to the corner of her screen, where there was a large number, 99, and below,
a grid of other numbers.

“The big 99 is the last customer’s rating. The customer will rate you on a scale of,
guess what, 1 to 100. That most recent rating will pop up here, and then that’ll be
averaged with the rest of the day’s scores in this next box. That way you’ll always
know how you’re doing, recently and generally. Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘Okay,
Jared, what kind of average is average?’ And the answer is, if it dips below 95, then
you might step back and see what you can do better. Maybe you bring the average up
with the next customer, maybe you see how you might improve. Now, if it’s consistently
slumping, then you might have a meet-up with Dan or another team leader to go over
some best practices. Sound good?”

“It does,” Mae said. “I really appreciate this, Jared. In my previous job, I was in
the dark about where I stood until, like, quarterly evaluations. It was nerve-wracking.”

“Well, you’ll love this then. If they fill out the survey and do the rating, and pretty
much everyone does, then you send them the next message. This one thanks them for
filling out the survey, and it encourages them to tell a friend about the experience
they just had with you, using the Circle’s social media tools. Ideally they at least
zing it or give you a smile or a frown. In a best-case scenario,
you might get them to zing about it or write about it on another customer-service
site. We get people out there zinging about their great customer service experiences
with you, then everyone wins. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay, let’s do a live one. Ready?”

Mae wasn’t, but couldn’t say that. “Ready.”

Jared brought up a customer request, and after reading it, let out a quick snort to
indicate its elementary nature. He chose a boilerplate answer, adapted it a bit, told
the customer to have a fantastic day. The exchange took about ninety seconds, and
two minutes later, the screen confirmed the customer had answered the questionnaire,
and a score appeared: 99. Jared sat back and turned to Mae.

“Now, that’s good, right? Ninety-nine is good. But I can’t help wondering why it wasn’t
a 100. Let’s look.” He opened up the customer’s survey answers and scanned through.
“Well, there’s no clear sign that any part of their experience was unsatisfactory.
Now, most companies would say, Wow, 99 out of 100 points, that’s nearly perfect. And
I say, exactly: it’s
nearly
perfect, sure. But at the Circle, that missing point nags at us. So let’s see if
we can get to the bottom of it. Here’s a follow-up that we send out.”

He showed her another survey, this one shorter, asking the customer what about their
interaction could have been improved and how. They sent it to the customer.

Seconds later, the response came back. “All was good. Sorry. Should have given you
a 100. Thanks!!”

Jared tapped the screen and gave a thumbs-up to Mae.

“Okay. Sometimes you might just encounter someone who isn’t really sensitive to the
metrics. So it’s good to ask them, to make sure you get that clarity. Now we’re back
to a perfect score. You ready to do your own?”

“I am.”

They downloaded another customer query, and Mae scrolled through the boilerplates,
found the appropriate answer, personalized it, and sent it back. When the survey came
back, her rating was 100.

Jared seemed briefly taken aback. “First one you get 100, wow,” he said. “I knew you’d
be good.” He had lost his footing, but now regained it. “Okay, I think you’re ready
to take on some more. Now, a couple more things. Let’s turn on your second screen.”
He turned on a smaller screen to her right. “This one is for intra-office messaging.
All Circlers send messages out through your main feed, but they appear on the second
screen. This is to make clear the importance of the messages, and to help you delineate
which is which. From time to time you’ll see messages from me over here, just checking
in or with some adjustment or news. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“Now, remember to bounce any stumpers to me, and if you need to stop and talk, you
can shoot me a message, or stop by. I’m just down the hall. I expect you to be in
touch pretty frequently for the first few weeks, one way or the other. That’s how
I know you’re learning. So don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t.”

“Great. Now, are you ready to get
started
-started?”

“I am.”

“Okay. That means I open the chute. And when I release this deluge
on you, you’ll have your own queue, and you’ll be inundated for the next two hours,
till lunch. You ready?”

Mae felt she was. “I am.”

“Are you sure? Okay then.”

He activated her account, gave her a mock-salute, and left. The chute opened, and
in the first twelve minutes, she answered four requests, her score at 96. She was
sweating heavily, but the rush was electric.

A message from Jared appeared on her second screen.
Great so far! Let’s see if we can get that up to 97 soon
.

I will!
she wrote.

And send follow-ups to the sub-100s
.

Okay
, she wrote.

She sent out seven follow-ups, and three customers adjusted their scores to 100. She
answered another ten questions by 11:45. Now her aggregate was 98.

Another message appeared on her second screen, this one from Dan.
Fantastic work, Mae! How you feeling?

Mae was astonished. A team leader who checked in with you, and so kindly, on the first
day?

Fine. Thanks!
she wrote back, and brought up the next customer request.

Another message from Jared appeared below the first.

Anything I can do? Questions I can answer?

No thanks!
she wrote.
I’m all set for now. Thanks, Jared!
She returned to the first screen. Another message from Jared popped up on the second.

Remember that I can only help if you tell me how
.

Thanks again!
she wrote.

By lunch she had answered thirty-six requests and her score was at 97.

A message from Jared came through.
Well done! Let’s follow up on any remaining sub-100s
.

Will do
, she answered, and sent out the follow-ups to those she hadn’t already handled. She
brought a few 98s to 100 and then saw a message from Dan:
Great work, Mae!

Seconds later, a second-screen message, this one from Annie, appeared below Dan’s:
Dan says you’re kicking ass. That’s my girl!

And then a message told her she’d been mentioned on Zing. She clicked over to read
it. It was written by Annie.
Newbie Mae is kicking ass!
She’d sent it out to the rest of the Circle campus—10,041 people.

The zing was forwarded 322 times and there were 187 follow-up comments. They appeared
on her second screen in an ever-lengthening thread. Mae didn’t have time to read them
all, but she scrolled quickly through, and the validation felt good. At the end of
the day, Mae’s score was 98. Congratulatory messages arrived from Jared and Dan and
Annie. A series of zings followed, announcing and celebrating what Annie called
the highest score of any CE newb ever of all time suck it
.

By her first Friday Mae had served 436 customers and had memorized the boilerplates.
Nothing surprised her anymore, though the variation in customers and their businesses
was dizzying. The Circle was everywhere, and though she’d known this for years, intuitively,
hearing from these people, the businesses counting on the Circle to get the word out
about their products, to track their digital impact, to know who was buying their
wares and when—it became real on a very different level. Mae now had customer contacts
in Clinton, Louisiana, and Putney, Vermont; in Marmaris, Turkey and Melbourne and
Glasgow and Kyoto. Invariably they were polite in their queries—the legacy of TruYou—and
gracious in their ratings.

By midmorning that Friday, her aggregate for the week was at 97, and the affirmations
were coming from everyone in the Circle. The work was demanding, and the flow did
not stop, but it varied just enough, and the validation was frequent enough, that
she settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Just as she was about to take another request, a text came through her phone. It was
Annie:
Eat with me, fool
.

They sat on a low hill, two salads between them, the sun making intermittent appearances
behind slow-moving clouds. Mae and Annie watched a trio of young men, pale and dressed
like engineers, attempting to throw a football.

“So you’re already a star. I feel like a proud mama.”

Mae shook her head. “I’m not at all. I have a lot to learn.”

“Of course you do. But a 97 so far? That’s insane. I didn’t get above 95 the first
week. You’re a natural.”

A pair of shadows darkened their lunch.

“Can we meet the newbie?”

Mae looked up, shielding her eyes.

“Course,” Annie said.

The shadows sat down. Annie jabbed her fork at them. “This is Sabine and Josef.”

Mae shook their hands. Sabine was blond, sturdy, squinting. Josef was thin, pale,
with comically bad teeth.

“Already she’s looking at my teeth!” he wailed, pointing to Mae. “You Americans are
obsessed!
I feel like a horse at an auction.”

“But your teeth
are
bad,” Annie said. “And we have such a good dental plan here.”

Josef unwrapped a burrito. “I think my teeth provide a necessary respite from the
eerie perfection of everyone else’s.”

Annie tilted her head, studying him. “I’m sure you
should
fix them, if not for you for the sake of company morale. You give people nightmares.”

Josef pouted theatrically, his mouth full of carne asada. Annie patted his arm.

Sabine turned to Mae. “So you’re in Customer Experience?” Now Mae noticed the tattoo
on Sabine’s arm, the symbol for infinity.

“I am. First week.”

“I saw you’re doing pretty well so far. I started there, too. Just about everyone
did.”

“And Sabine’s a biochemist,” Annie added.

Mae was surprised. “You’re a biochemist?”

“I am.”

Mae hadn’t heard about biochemists working at the Circle. “Can I ask what you’re working
on?”

“Can you
ask?
” Sabine smiled. “Of course you can
ask
. But I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Everyone sighed for a moment, but then Sabine stopped.

“Seriously though, I can’t tell you. Not right now, anyway. Generally
I work on stuff for the biometric side of things. You know, iris scanning and facial
recognition. But right now I’m on something new. Even though I’d like to—”

Annie gave Sabine an imploring, quieting look. Sabine filled her mouth with lettuce.

“Anyway,” Annie said, “Josef here is in Educational Access. He’s trying to get tablets
into schools that right now can’t afford them. He’s a do-gooder. He’s also friends
with your new friend. Garbonzo.”

“Garaventa,” Mae corrected.

“Ah. You
do
remember. Have you seen him again?”

“Not this week. It’s been too busy.”

Now Josef’s mouth was open. Something had just dawned on him. “Are you Mae?”

Annie winced. “We already said that. Of course this is Mae.”

“Sorry. I didn’t hear it right. Now I know who you are.”

Annie snorted. “What, did you two little girls tell each other all about Francis’s
big night? He’s been writing Mae’s name in his notebook, surrounded by hearts?”

Josef inhaled indulgently. “No, he just said he’d met someone very nice, and her name
was Mae.”

“That’s so sweet,” Sabine said.

“He told her he was in security,” Annie said. “Why would he do that, Josef?”

“That’s not what he said,” Mae insisted. “I told you that.”

Annie didn’t seem to care. “Well, I guess you could call it security. He’s in child
safety. He’s basically the core of this whole program to prevent abductions. He actually
could do it.”

Sabine, her mouth full again, was nodding vigorously. “Of course he will,” she said,
spraying fragments of salad and vinaigrette. “It’s a done deal.”

“What is?” Mae asked. “He’s going to prevent all abductions?”

“He could,” Josef said. “He’s motivated.”

Annie’s eyes went wide. “Did he tell you about his sisters?”

Mae shook her head. “No, he didn’t say he had siblings. What about his sisters?”

All three Circlers looked at each other, as if to gauge if the story had to be told
there and then.

“It’s the worst story,” Annie said. “His parents were such fuckups. I think there
were like four or five kids in the family, and Francis was youngest or second-youngest,
and anyway the dad was in jail, and the mom was on drugs, so the kids were sent all
over the place. I think one went to his aunt and uncle, and his two sisters were sent
to some foster home, and then they were abducted from there. I guess there was some
doubt if they were, you know, given or sold to the murderers.”