"Hello, my name is Victoria. How can I sprinkle some Disney magic on your day?"
I'm not sure if this is a question one adult should ask of another as part of a serious business transaction, but it was one that was addressed to me today. To which I replied "you could start by saying things that are less likely to make me throw up".
Of course I didn't. I'm English, so I said "Um, hello, yes, well."
What had brought me to this unexpected gambit was the need for information. A few days ago I spent an evening researching the options for a short trip to Disneyland Paris on their surprisingly poor website, which is all about pushing unnecessary rich branded content at the expense of cramped text and slow-loading information. Having near worn-out the F5 key through repeated page-loading, thanks to their over-use of Flash, I had eventually found the information I needed, except one important detail: could I park my car at the hotel for free or would it cost extra? It was not mentioned as part of the standard benefits, and Valet parking was mentioned only at the most expensive hotels. What about the plebs looking to drive and stay at the middle-of-the-range places?
The "Search" function on the site could tell you the daily parking rates inside the park itself. After that, the word "parking" becomes assumed to be a long-tail search variant on "park", and there are lots of Disney words about the Parks at Disneyland Paris on their website.
But there was also an FAQ section that either offered answers to the sort of questions no-one would actually ask, or were patsies to sell you, once again, the magical details about the magical park features. For example: "What is a resort?" or "Are there any special offers?" Not "will you bastards sting me for more money if I bring my car?"
In the absence of an email option (!), I was forced to use the phone, carefully navigating the menus until I reached "For any other questions about your Disneyland Paris holiday, press 3". I pressed in triumph, only to hear a recorded message asking me rhetorically whether I knew that "ALL the answers to your questions about a holiday can be found on our website". At that point, I was cheerily cut-off. I tried again, just to be sure I hadn't accidentally terminated the call myself. No, it was definitely Disney who didn't want to talk. The customer is clearly only right at Disney as long as they ask the sort of questions it wants to answer.
To get the answer to my question, I had to break the system: pretend to make a booking and then, when put through to the lovely Victoria, ask my question. At first I was annoyed by the arrogance of Disney, simply denying there would be a question they had not already answered. It's certainly a patronising, not to say insulting, approach to customer service to take a "mummy knows best" approach, and ignore the crying in the nursery.
But it reflects a paradox at the heart of Disney's customer service. As they so proudly admit "At Disneyland, kids rule". The Kids Are King, but the parents must pay their taxes. And to deliver a child's paradise, you must start by infantilising the parents. We will take away all your need to think, plan or rationalise, we will swamp you with convenience to give you the full transplanted American experience: a holiday of customer service. No faced left unsmiled, no arse left unwiped. And in return we'll make it as difficult as we can to do anything other than pay us all your money to do everything for you: hotel, travel, tickets, meals, entertainment. The promise of Disney's service is not built around the customer's desires, but the illusion of choice between a small number of bolted-together packages. Because the point of a conjurer's act is to enjoy the magic not to ask how the trick is done, in case you spoil it for the children.
