Local here is a drive time question
This city spread outward for decades and has not stopped. The built-up area runs a
long way in every direction, the edges are still being built on, and nothing in the
landscape says where it ought to end. Two customers can both be in Columbus and be the
better part of an hour apart.
So the first question on a call here is not what do you need, it is where are you.
Your number cannot answer it, because both codes cover the lot. The cheapest place to
ask is the greeting: name the parts of the metro you cover, and a caller outside them
can hang up before either of you has spent ten minutes finding out. Ordinary
auto attendant behaviour.
The two afternoons a year that break a single line
Weather bunches the calls here, twice a year and in opposite directions. Winter does
not settle into one long freeze. It crosses back and forth over freezing, repeatedly,
which is what splits pipes, lifts concrete and finds every gap in a roof. Summer storms
do the same job at speed, and because there is no lake shore and no valley here to
break a storm line up, one of them can put the whole service area on the phone in the
same hour rather than half of it.
Either way a trade that takes four calls on an ordinary day takes thirty in an
afternoon, and a single line answers the fifth of them with a busy signal. A stranger
hears that as closed, not as in demand. What copes is dull, and here it has to sort by
geography as well as by who is free: the number ringing whichever crew is already on
that side of the metro rather than whoever happens to pick up first, and every message
it takes keeping the caller's end of town, because on a day like that the order you
drive in is the only order you can actually work. See
virtual phone system.