There was a time when the reaction received when some enterprise, to which you paid money in exchange for a service, failed to deliver ranged from defensive to antagonistic.  The former meant some person, usually hidden in a secret bunker in the midwest, would tell you about their problems, The latter meant that if something went wrong, it was by definition your fault because they were never wrong.

This made people angry.  It was bad for business.

Then somebody got it into their head that a simple apology would often go a long way in diffusing the anger, and so was born the ubiquitous response to all problems uttered by every young lady on the telephone in far away places:  “I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”

At first, there was a certain charm to the expression of concern.  It was certainly better than its predecessor, that the customer was always wrong.  Sure, it was banal and insincere, but at least it didn’t inflame an already unpleasant situation.  But that was due to the juxtaposition of the old script and the new.  The day has past.

This morning, upon cranking up the computer, I began my morning ritual as I always do, first checking my email.  I tend to have a lot of email, which makes me pretty much like every other semi-computer literate lawyer around.  Most are inconsequential, and produce the deep impression on my delete button.  A few are interesting and/or funny.  A few are critical.

This morning, there were none.  Not because I received no emails, but because the program I’ve used since the early 1990s to manage them decided that it wasn’t going to give them to me today.  For those who wonder why this space isn’t filled with something law related, it’s because my morning has been spent trying to find out what’s become of my emails to the exclusion of performing my morning computer constitutional.

A pop up appeared on my screen.  It informed me that my email was unavailable (as if I was unaware of this) and that the popup was sorry for the inconvenience. I clicked “ok” because there was no button that said “bite me.”

After trying a host of methods to circumvent the problem, and getting nowhere, I inquired of a lovely young lady whose name I couldn’t understand.  I told her that my email wasn’t working.  She told me, “I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”  I lost it.  It’s foolish and inappropriate for me to do so, since it wasn’t her fault that I was having this problem, but I can’t bear to hear that phrase again.

First, you aren’t sorry.  You couldn’t care less. You say the words because they’re on the script of what to say to the person who has a problem, because somebody told you that it’s what to do.

Second, it’s not an “inconvenience.”  Whoever came up with that word choice is a moron.  An inconvenience is when I have to wait 10 seconds for the screen to load.  Not having access to email, a basic function in a computer driven society, is like losing electricity in the middle of winter.

Third, I don’t care whether a young lady with an incomprehensible name (Peggy?) is sorry.  Not about my inconvenience.  Not about my serious problem.  Not about the critical problem a client was seeking to alert me to, with a time sensitive need and dire consequences.

Fourth, you provide a discrete service.  I ask only for the provision of that service. If you can’t provide that service, you have no reason to exist as far as I’m concerned.  I seek neither your love, friendship nor empathy. Just the service.  I don’t care if you’re sorry. I care that you failed to provide the service. That’s the beginning and end of it for me.

It’s time to put an end to the use of the phrase, “I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”  As much fun as it was when businesses first pulled it out of their book entitled “how to make irate customers less irate after you’ve failed,” it no longer works.  It’s time is over.  The phrase is played.

To tell the truth, the phrase only worked for me for about a day or two after it came into use.  It was a pleasant change of pace from the typical, customers are such a pain for expecting us to give them something in exchange for their money.  But its emptiness was quickly evident.  After the glow of emotional validation receded, whatever was the problem remained.  Unfixed.

You’re sorry for my inconvenience?  I don’t care. Fix the problem.

And while we’re at it, the techn-lovers who comprise the choir singing hosannas to the computer overlords never mention the fact that sometimes, every once in a while, the cloud goes down. Poof, it’s not there. Then what?  Explain to your client why you can’t do the work.  Explain to the judge why can’t produce. Blame the cloud and see who cares.

To a greater or lesser extent, we’ve become dependent on technology, though we have no control over it and are at the mercy of people in places like Seattle to make sure it works. If it doesn’t, we’re screwed. They, so they say, are sorry for the inconvenience. How’s that working for you?

To anyone who sent me an email last night or this morning, I haven’t been able to access it.  I don’t know what it says. I can’t respond. I can’t act upon it. I am not sorry for the inconvenience. I’m angry at the failure and the fact that I have no idea when, or if, it will ever be available to me.

For the first time ever, I pray that everything in my inbox is spam and garbage, so that nothing important, no less critical, is missed.