Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
When life feels like one long hangover anyway, you tend to stop bothering about how much you drink.
How anyone works in a call centre I will never quite know. It's a brutal, joyless, mindlessly repetitive job that gives no satisfaction whatsoever. For every person who tells you you're a wonderful human being, there are a dozen graceless, hateful bastards calling you a lying, vindictive, unco-operative, incompetent cunt. They aren't interested in the fact the new system is badly implemented, barely tested rubbish. They don't care that garbage in means garbage out. Simply put, it's your fault and you're filth on a stick.
Not that I know from personal experience, and not that I work as a call centre agent, but God help me, working in an environment of constantly raised voices creates it's own stress by proxy. I do outbound chaser calls (pussy work!), and going on the off call confidences of my colleagues, I hope it remains that way for as long as I'm trapped on the 4th floor. I need their hell like I need a 2nd arsehole.
Just some of the chancers you have to fend off:
Solicitors who think a 1988 Sharp fax machine will be sufficient to send large amounts of documentation to ANYONE!. Then complain like the retarded public schoolboy tossers they are when ignorant fools such as ourselves cannot accept a legal document that has several pages missing or distorted and the Mortgagor names ommitted. N.B. Solicitors who cannot spell are an interesting sideshow, but are easily humiliated into compliance.
Or how about the modern day Del Boy twats from the branches who tell the customers they will have their funds in five minutes flat, leading to the most almighty clusterfucks at our end, as we chase the ever fading shadows of prior lenders, guarantors, 3rd parties, 3rd party solicitors, Alistair Darling and the Fucking President of Fucking Ethiopia. Some people do need money in insanely tight time limits, but for the most part, I theorise that someone out there just wants to get their monthly bonus in.
Finally we have the customer. The rube, the dupe, the fool, and possibly the hardest to deal with as you do actually feel for them. Being led up the garden path by a solicitor & a business manager can't be much fun, so it's lucky there's a call centre somewhere in Jockoland for them to call up and vent their frustrations at. After all, we're not human beings and it doesn't really matter, does it?
Nah, 'course not.......