The other day, I received an automated email from my pharmacy (a big corporate entity whose name I’m not giving here even though I kind of want to). It seems there’s an “insurance issue” with my son’s EpiPen refills for this year.

(For the moment, let’s put aside the fact that “issue” is deliberately vague. And as the recipient of this communication, I would really prefer more specifics. Is the issue that insurance isn’t paying? Or that there is just a delay in authorizing payment? Or that they’re challenging my request for two sets of EpiPens?)

But one possible issue is that the pharmacy doesn’t have up-to-date insurance information on file. This is the one possibility called out in the communique, and in this automated email, I am instructed:

If your insurance has recently changed, please call the pharmacy at (###) ###-#### to provide updated insurance information.

My husband changed jobs earlier this year, and at the time I received the email, I thought: Hmmm, maybe they don’t have updated information on file.

So, I called.

I waited on hold for the next available representative.

When the next available representative answered my call, I explained that I might need to update my insurance information with them. She said:

“We don’t take insurance information over the phone.”

Pretty much how I felt. (Photo by Thinkstock.)

Pretty much how I felt. (Photo by Thinkstock.)

Now, the fact that I would need to run my insurance card to the pharmacy is slightly irritating. But that’s not at all what had me miffed. As a consumer — and a communicator — I was annoyed because I DID WHAT THE COMPANY’S COMMUNICATION TOLD ME TO.

I followed your instructions in your email! And now, I’m getting conflicting information. So, either you are communicating poorly or your phone rep isn’t doing her job. On the call, I let her know that their email said to call this number with insurance information. She seemed equally miffed. So, I’m guessing she has the policy right. Who didn’t tell the communicators?

This isn’t all that uncommon, I’m fairly sure. And part of the reason is quite frankly because operations teams and product managers make decisions and fail to loop in the communicators. It’s not that it’s a malicious exclusion, either. It’s an idea that “Oh, this is a simple change. No one will notice. There’s no need to communicate it.”

But that decision should fall to the communications team members. Because consider this: Changing that one sentence in an email will have a return on investment. Smart communicators can save or make you money.

 

Smart communicators can save or make you money.

What if 100 other customers across the country received that email today and 80 of them called the pharmacy? Let’s say each of those calls took one minute. And let’s say that happens every day for a month. That’s 2,400 minutes of phone time. Or 40 hours. At $15/hour, that’s $600.

But wait, there’s more! I’m one ticked-off customer — and maybe instead of bringing my insurance card to your pharmacy, I’ll just take it to the pharmacy that popped up a mile from my house. Previously, it seemed like a hassle to change, but ya know what, now it doesn’t. And since your phone rep wasn’t so nice to me (probably because she’s tired of dealing with these stupid calls) and because I’m miffed and impulsive … Yes, I think I will change pharmacies.

Those EpiPens are hundreds of dollars. And every so often we need other things from the pharmacy too. And I’m just ONE person.

That one paragraph giving bad directions was mighty, mighty costly.