“Yes, Mr. Josh, we understand your concerns and are committed to providing the highest quality service to resolve your issue.” That’s probably what “Lakshmi” said, though her thick Indian accent made it a bit hard to catch. But, really, what does that even mean? When a company chooses to hire a call center in Bangladesh for American customers, the message is pretty clear. It’s not exactly, “Thank you for your business.”
I recognized that voice. A pleasant mid-aged American woman—one I hadn’t encountered in a customer service context since the late ’90s. But it’s not Lakshmi’s fault. She’s just making a living, like all of us. Still, I don’t want to hear her read off a scripted line. I expect to get what I paid for—no excuses, no frustrating automated systems, and definitely no straining to understand someone struggling with English.
But let’s set aside the annoyance for a moment. This article is really about the remarkable skills American workers can bring to the table. So, here’s what happened.
I had a situation with my propane. Susan and Jennifer were on the case, and I was honestly relieved because sitting in a freezing house while explaining to someone in another country that a propane leak is a serious issue in a Vermont winter is… well, let’s just say it’s not ideal.
Just to clarify, there were no actual leaks—but that’s a detail for later.
mousetrap
Last week, I was convinced there was a dead animal in my home. A smell was permeating—probably a mouse that one of my cats had caught but didn’t finish. I imagined it was under my bed or perhaps lodged beneath the dresser, since that’s where Mina, my tabby dog, was barking and scratching around.
She’s a champion mouse catcher, and living in this country house after years in the city has opened my eyes to a lot. It’s my third year on a dirt road, and I’ve learned the importance of maintaining the well pump and keeping backup water ready. You never know when the power might go out.
After lugging furniture and flashing lights everywhere, I couldn’t find anything dead. But it turned out that the rotten egg odor was emanating from a valve fitting on the propane line leading to my cast iron stove.
Those familiar with propane would probably chuckle at my concern. I naturally assumed the smell indicated a leak. So, I switched off the outdoor tank faucet and indoor valve, and contacted my fuel supplier.
And that’s when Lakshmi entered the scene. Imagine my frustration reaching out to an American company, only to be rerouted to a call center in Bangladesh—where they provide services for customers just across the river from where I live. You can see their local facility from my backyard, yet the call was still directed overseas.
subcontinent shuffle
Direct contact with local representatives? Not possible. Believe me, I tried. If you dial that domestic number, you will always be redirected to Bangladesh, and they function solely as intermediaries. Local numbers? Good luck unless you want to hear a robot say how sorry they are and redirect you back to the same 800 number.
The script claims they take potential leaks seriously—“Emergency technicians will be dispatched immediately.” But how can you really know this? You just have to take it on faith that someone halfway around the world is actually sending help for a situation mere meters away.
No, they likely don’t have your information directly. And there’s absolutely no assurance that your driver or tech will call ahead with arrival times. It’s all about “trust.”
Hours ticked by—one, two, three, four, five. I called the company every hour, straining to keep my voice friendly and relaxed. You give them any excuse, and who knows when I’d get help? Each time required repeating the same verification: name, address, billing details, and last four digits of my Social Security number. Just to speak to someone.
“We have sent someone,” Lakshmi or Rohan informed me every single time I reached out. They wouldn’t share names or estimated arrival times. It felt like they didn’t care that I was freezing.
But Susan did care.
sweet ability
When I called the national number for the fifth time, it was like a breath of fresh air. “Hello, thank you for calling Nationally Known Fuel Company. I’m Susan. How can I help you?”
“Are you actually a human being?” I asked, half-expecting another scripted response. But no, it was different. A real voice—a sweet yet firm American woman, something I hadn’t heard in ages.
“Yes,” she chuckled.
Gratefully, I explained my situation. She, surprisingly, was furious on my behalf. “It’s been five hours since your first call?” She couldn’t believe it. “That’s unacceptable. It’s winter! I’ll call the local dispatch manager right now.”
I was almost overwhelmed by her genuine response. These types of interactions—where caring human connection is prioritized—seem all too rare nowadays.
voice of america
True to her word, Susan connected me with Jennifer, the local dispatch manager. Minutes later, Jennifer was on the line, and things took a turn for the better.
“I’m truly sorry for your wait,” she mentioned. I could tell she was around my age, and her American accent was reassuring. Gen Xers tend to have a straightforward and serious demeanor.
Jennifer shared that she was having a tough day. She’d been stuck at the dispatch center due to a staff shortage, trying to dispatch propane trucks to customers in the cold. Meanwhile, she was battling her own sleeplessness. A local truck had broken down, and she couldn’t find help.
Jennifer was upfront about it all—not to make excuses, but to explain why things had gone awry. She was focused on quickly getting me what I needed.
She informed me about the odor and explained that propane companies add unpleasant scents as a safety precaution. When a tank nears empty, those chemicals saturate the space around the equipment. Technically, that means you might be leaking… but it’s typically harmless.
“Most of the time, it means your tank is low. I often prevent technicians from running out for minor issues; it’s usually just a supply problem.”
In our conversation, we agreed that a technician wasn’t necessary. Since we had already taken precautions, what I needed was just a delivery.
Jennifer mentioned she’d arrange a refill for the next day, right after explaining the recent weather challenges.
help your neighbors
Indeed, Dickie was here before long to refill my tank. He joked about whether I had a leak, playfully stating that this was my first big lesson transitioning from city dweller to country life.
But it got even better. I received a call from Paul, another local resident, who apologized for the delays and acknowledged the frustration. I told him I understood their struggles, having heard that it had been a tough time for many.
To my surprise, Paul offered me a free $300 propane tank as an apology. Wow.
This shows a crucial lesson to American companies. I almost canceled my contract with this widely recognized brand. If they prefer routing local calls to overseas centers, then they risk losing my business.
Yet, thanks to Susan, Jennifer, Dickie, and Paul, I’ve decided to stick with them for now. These are individuals who live nearby and truly understand the harshness of winter. They treated me the way I’d want my family to be treated in similar circumstances.
My choice to remain a customer isn’t set in stone. If I have to deal with Lakshmi again during an urgent situation, I might reconsider. I can easily go to five local fuel stores and talk directly with my neighbors.
In the end, “globalization” feels like a ruse orchestrated by corporations who prioritize profits over customer service. So far, we haven’t found a way to tackle the market effectively and push for better service. I often wonder how we can make that happen.
There are no considerable savings to justify this system where folks in India try to manage the needs of customers far away, especially during cold winter months in Vermont. Here’s to supporting our local Americans.
