“Whenever someone says I’m the chosen one, I’m almost expecting a light to come down and sit above my head,” says Maria, 47, from Norwich. “So I’m quite humbled by it, really.” Maria makes this observation not from a fluffy cloud next to some archangels but from her Tesco Mobile pod within the Northampton South Tesco Extra. Put simply, Chosen Ones are the best that the mobile phone sales industry has to offer, those talented few who inspire, uplift and dynamically represent their employer’s brand to 110% of their ability. Phone Shop Idol (Tuesday, 10pm, BBC2) is a six-part docutainment series that covers the runup to an industry award, one that will propel the winner from humble sales adviser to Shop Idol. Retailers across the UK have named 32 Chosen Ones to compete for the award: a list that includes ye venerable Andy of Fonehouse, Sunderland, and Jonny, who works for EE in Warrington and has already had a taste of success, having been chosen as its sales associate of the year.
Being named among the Chosen is a heavy crown to wear. They can’t expect to breeze through the six-month competition; sales figures are not enough. One Shop Idol judge, secret-shopping mogul Mike, says he’s looking for the complete package, someone with “no fear of closing sales and overcoming objections”. The other judges, Christian from iSellMobile, the industry magazine behind the competition, and Sunetra, editor of Mobile Choice magazine, are just as demanding. Nominees are scrupulously evaluated according to their technical knowledge, their ability at practical demonstrations, and how buzzily they conduct themselves with mystery shoppers. The most important thing the judges are looking for, though, is star quality. Jonny’s high sales mean nothing here, and he scores badly. His voice is monotonous, say the judges. His upselling doesn’t zing, and his physical presence has a drab aspect to it. Jonny, it seems, does not sufficiently embody EE’s brand. “There was no joy,” says Sunetra sadly.
It would be nice if Phone Shop Idol were a sensitive film about the new generation of emotional labourers, people whose personalities must be shaped and crafted to toe the company line. It would be good if it were an insight into what impact it has on a person’s humanity when their value is measured solely in how successfully they pull off app banter with elderly customers (“Isn’t Shazam great, do you use it?” “No”). But Phone Shop Idol is not that. Instead, what we have are murky techniques for delivering maximum productivity and increased profit, televised. We see workers high-fiving flint-faced citizens and enlisting cheerleaders to encourage online votes in the hope their attempts at career progression might go viral. I’ll be honest, it’s pretty creepy. Phone salespeople may be on the list of Britain’s most maligned professions, somewhere above murderous GPs but below parking attendants, yet spare a thought for them here. They are getting doubly shafted: not only forced into the indignity of having to audition for a promotion, but also having it filmed. And not just filmed, but filmed with awkward, lingering shots of the subjects when they’ve said something stupid, powerless to sidestep the spectre of David Brent. It’s all fun and games in PhoneShop, the excellently observed E4 comedy, but in Phone Shop Idol, things take a turn for the sinister, presenting firm evidence that we’re trapped in a late-capitalist dystopia. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if the BBC had been “persuaded” to make the series by a secret commissioner for British Values, a shadowy figure responsible for reminding the cogs in the nation’s machine that allowing career advancement to transform from a benign abstraction to a series of demeaning challenges will set you free.
Anyway back to the action, where one EE sales representative from Warrington is musing in awed tones that a room full of Jonnys would be quite something. To me that sounds like an offensive slur. Mobile phone sales reps are people, too. Just maybe not ones you’d want to spend much time with.
