It's interesting, the more I think about it.  For me, personally (fully understanding that I do not speak for the world), "problem" is a much nicer word than "issue."

Problems are solvable.  Problems have solutions.  Problems can thus go away.

Issues are trickier.  The word "issue" denotes something that is longer lasting, more perpetual.  An issue is only eliminated by a resolution -- and resolutions, as storytellers know, usually only come after some long, perhaps epic, series of trials, tribulations, and conflict.  Indeed, the word "issue" almost necessary implies "conflict."  The word "problem" does not.  Problems are benign.  Issues are dramatic.

To put it more succinctly: I'd rather date a woman with problems than date a woman with issues.

Funny things, these semantics.

Colleges these days have what Scott Adams termed a "confusopoly" -- there are so many choices and it's so confusing which is the best one that it ensures that all market participants will succeed and prosper, dividing up the market nicely.  (Remember, too, that most of those tuition dollars are coming from federally guaranteed student loans, so they can continue to raise tuition prices to their hearts' content so long as the education bubble doesn't deflate or burst).

Sure, the brand names like the Ivy League schools, MIT, Stanford, Duke, etc., may gain additional leverage by actually striving to put out the most successful grads, but most 16-, 17-, and 18-year-olds -- who are only going to college anyway because they're expected to and told that they're supposed to, even though they are not nearly well equipped enough to make these decisions (especially considering the debt load many agree to take on -- are less interested in things like average salary of graduate after one year and employment rates of graduates and more interested in things like dorm life, extracurriculars, sports, etc..

All the non-brand names are pretty much the same (and even the brand names too, to a more limited extent).

Joe:

As thin as that line is, it's also very vaguely drawn.  So I agree.  It's *very* easy to turn what's intended to be a method to avoid unnecessary conflict, and make it into something that gets no one to a solution.

For all of its problems with customer service, I always thought that the customer service training I got from Sprint was among the best I ever got.  And these discussions they had around word choice were never about hiding anything.  They were an understanding that certain words led to confrontation.  Usually, to an unnecessary confrontation.  And they've been proven right much more often than not in the years since I went through that.

So "don't use 'problem' in a call" was a thumbrule much easier to teach than all the vagaries of when it might, kinda-sorta, be OK.  But it works.

Great tip, Rob, about wording and semantics.  I would suggest, however, that there is a thin line that, if crossed, can result in backlash.  In many cases, I've noticed when service representatives go out of the way to reword things in a politically correct way.  Not only does this blatant word denial just irritate me more as a customer, but in almost every single case, these representatives ultimately proved to be obstructive, antipathic, and unhelpful.

The best service I've ever gotten has been from people who were frank, forthright, and earnest -- people who did not shy away from using words like "problem," etc..

This is not to say that you are wrong (and there are certainly difficult customers).  I would suggest that it's a matter of training.  Those who are trained -- whether by scripting, actual training, or even just company culture -- to purposely be politic and cover their butts to an extreme come off as blatantly disingenuous as they are.  Those who are trained to go above and beyond come off as dedicated.

And then there is the middle.

I daresay that "passion" is overrated, and assessing it in the application/interview process is an exercise full of futility, counterproductivity, and hubris.



99.9% percent of the time, the truthful answer to the question "Why do you want this job?" for an unemployed or underemployed applicant is: "Because I need one."  (Maybe with the added incentive: "...and I heard you have good benefits.")  Period.  

It does not make that person bad.  It does not make that person underqualified.  It does not make that person a poor cultural fit.  It does not mean that person will be any less dedicated than anyone else.  Employers who do not acknowledge this are fooling themselves, seeking to have candidates blow smoke up their butts about how awesome their company is.



Indeed, I would argue that by giving the person a job that they need (especially in this economic climate), you earn that person's devotion, dedication, trust, and hard work and effort for a long time to come.



And besides, clearly the candidate has some passion for the position because they went through all of the trouble of writing a cover letter, tailoring their resume, getting their interview suit cleaned (or, perhaps, buying a new suit entirely), driving or riding public transit (or, in some cases, flying!) to your office, and waiting several minutes past the agreed upon interview time to be asked sociopathic questions like, "What is your greatest weakness?"



All while knowing that there is a significant chance that their efforts will be utterly for naught.  Because they want that job that much.



If that's not dedication, or passion, or whatever you want to call it, I don't know what is.

KMT568,

It also depends on what field the candidates are in. I mean an Intellectual Property Attorney with a PhD and a JD plus experience in the field as an engineer may not be charismatic as a blabbering sales executive who climbed up the ladder. Then again they wouldn't likely be applying for the same position. All in all, some people have better interviewing skills than others and really the deciding factor should be focused on their anticipated performance and fit, right?

@everyone - thanks for such an invigorating discussion.  Great comments and insights! Thanks.