...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil... (froodle) wrote in worksuckedtoday,
...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil...

Background: Slightly higher-than-your-average Phone Monkey in a call centre for a Big Energy Company. Advocates, or Helper Monkeys as they are more commonly known, take on more complex cases from a team of Phone Monkeys and manage them until either they are resolved or the advocate kills themselves from the stupidity of those who she must deal with.

Dudes. What a complete and utter shitter of a day. I'm in the office five minutes and this fucking retard is on the 'phone, whinging because "you were supposed to call me today." Yes, dilhole, and I made a point of saying I worked from ten 'til eight, so don't be getting in my face acting like I've let you down because it's four minutes past ten and I haven't called yet. And then, after explaining to her what she needs to do, she calls back twenty minutes later when I'm in the middle of explaining something else to some other 'tard. And then she calls back. Again and again and again. Fuck off! "She will call you when she's off the 'phone" does not mean "please call every five minutes to be told exactly the same thing you were told five minutes ago and keep harrassing Froodles who already have a full job with both their caseload and their absentee "buddy" advocates caseload AND answering questions from every dimwit who can't follow a three-page PowerPoint presentation."

And oh, my God, I hate my team/s. It's not even the fact that they're stupid, which they are, and which is enough to piss me off even on a good day. I can almost come to terms with the fact that watching them try to form a coherent thought is like watching a train derailment in slow motion, or that after ten minutes in their presence I have to leave the room in order to suppress my evolutionary imperative to murder them before they can breed. After all, it's not as though they have a time machine to travel back twenty-odd years and beg their mothers to please stop swigging wood alcohol for five minutes while pregnant, or a rocket ship to fly to Heaven and beg God to give them the basic reasoning skills He imparts to the average six year old.

No, it's the fact that they won't even try to figure things out for themselves. I've got one halfwit who apparently thinks that boxes labelled 1, 2, 3 and 4 should contain the exact same information as a set of boxes on the following page labelled 5, 6, 7 and 8. I've had to explain to one of them that a meter cannot be passing unregistered energy if the dials are spinning when energy is being used, because in point of fact that is how a meter registers the use of energy. I've got a dink who "accidently" raises callbacks for a day when she knows she's going to be on holiday and then "oopsie-daisys" out of it and lets me pick up the slack. I've got one bloated speciman who snaps his fingers to get my attention, and since his fingers are like enormous swollen sausages, I can't even break them in retribution for his lack of manners. Maybe if you'd waddle the ten feet to my fucking desk, you wouldn't weigh four hundred pounds, you fat fuck!

At lunch tomorrow, I am going to buy a bottle of drain unclogger and a box of injectin' needles, and every person who wastes my time with another soul-destroying display of dimwittedness is going to get stabbed in the neck with a syringe full of agonising death.
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