What’s Your Address?

Seems simple enough.

When you’re an ESP, the simplest things in life just so happen to be the most complicated.

Winston: “May I have your address please?”

Customer: “Arizona.”

Winston: “Okay, um, where in Arizona?”

Customer: “What you mean?”

Winston: “I mean, what is your full address?”

Customer: “Oh, Hell, I don’t know. You need it or something?”

Winston: “Um, yes, if you want me to send you a new receiver, I need to know where to send it.”

Customer: “Send it to Arizona.”

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The Deaf Conversation

Quietest. Service. EVER.

Most of the time ESP’s get pissed off at me simply because they’re fucking stupid. Yet sometimes they get pissed off at me because they’re deaf.

Customer: “Hello? Who is this? Hello?”

Winston: “Yes, this is Winston, how may I help you?”

Customer: “What? Jesus, speak up!”

So I figured, might as well start yelling. I get yelled at all day, why not give it a shot?

Winston: “Yes, this is Winston! How may I help you?”

Customer: “What? Seriously speak up!”

This continued for awhile. I’d yell, then she’d get mad and yell back. Note, that had never happened before. I don’t yell at people. Only ESP’s yell at strangers on the phone. Fact.

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I Know My Own Phone Number

Now there’s a phone number I don’t want to call.

One of the many problems with ESP’s is that they’re so fucking sure of themselves no matter how dumb they are. For some reason they always think they’re right and simply can’t be reasoned with. That’s why unfortunately you sometimes have to humor them and stoop down to their level.

Customer: “Could you do me a favor and call me back at a different number? It’s 555-5555.”

Winson: “Um, actually it looks like we’re talking on that number right now. Do you have another number you’d like me to call?”

Customer: “No, we’re not talking on that number.”

Winston: “Well, I see it right here on my phone. 555-5555.”

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The Goodbyes

That’s one way to hang up the phone.

We’re required to sign off from each call in a specific, stupid fucking way. No “goodbye,” “have a good day,” or “go fuck yourself.” It always has to be, “Thank you for calling Telescreen, have a great day.” When Big Brother and company listen to our calls, they mark us down for that shit. That in turn drops our performance ranking and means we don’t get our measly, shitty bonus. But that’s a story for another day.

Needless to say, we’re always about dropping our sign-off even after the customer hangs up, no matter how irrational. Since we get hung up on so frequently, you’d think our dipshit outro wouldn’t be needed. Not the case. This is what a call like that sounds like when customers get pissed and hang up.

Customer: “Well screw you and your damn company, I’m not paying a dime!”

Click. Silence.

Winston: “Thank you so much for calling Telescreen, have a wonderful day!”

Now that’s how you do a call right, at least according to the creeps listening in on us. I mean, you’d think it would suck getting hung up on all day, but it’s the best thing ever. When an ESP is losing their shit, you’re tired of hearing their stupid fucking voice complain about the dumbest shit, and then they hang up. Amazing.

Even though the employees can’t be creative in their sign offs, the customers sure can. Here are some of my favorites:

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I Ain’t Got No Address

Now that’s a “rural” mailbox.

Telescreen has a term for Rednecks. They’re called, “Rural Customers.” That’s a nice politically correct term, but also turns out to be rather accurate.

Winston: “Alright sir, I’ve got your new receiver box ready to be shipped, but I can’t verify your service address. What is your address?”

Customer: “Well I ain’t got one, I just live right out here past the highway in the great state of Oklahoma.”

Winston: “So, you don’t have an address?”

Customer: “No, I ain’t got no address.”

Winston: “How did service get setup there in the first place then?”

Customer: “Ah shoot, I dunno. Some local fella came out and got it going for me.”

Winston: “Do you get mail there?”

Customer: “Hell no, nearest person’s a good ten miles away. I ain’t even get no darn phone out here. That’s why I got to be way outside on my flip phone talkin’ to ya.”

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The ESP Name Game

Related to Mr. Pee Pee Pants.

Even though ESP’s are so fucking dumb and almost always wrong, they’re just so damn sure of themselves.

Customer: “I was just talking to Amanda and we got disconnected. I need you to transfer me right away.”

Winston: “I’m sorry, but no Amanda works in our office.”

Customer: “I know who I talked to. I was just on the phone with her, now connect me back!”

Winston: “I can definitely check our employee list, but I’m almost positive no one of that name works here.”

Sure enough, after a little check, no Amanda existed among the poor assholes working in Super Department.

Winston: “Are you sure it was this department? Could it be another name?”

Again, ESP’s are never wrong. Yet always wrong.

Customer: “Damnit, connect me right now, I’m tired of waiting around! Just go over to her desk, it’s not that hard!”

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Ain’t No Church Today

 

No one pays for GPS anymore. Just saying.

In honor of the birthday boy’s big day on the 25th, I thought I’d drop a fun little story about the importance of Sunday, the sabbath. Take note, don’t miss church, ever.

A woman called in because a technician didn’t make it out to her house that day and it had to be rescheduled. Something had fucked up in the scheduling system and by the time I talked to her there were no techs available. Sure it’s frustrating waiting for someone to come to your house and then not having them show up, I get that.

What I didn’t get is why this broad had to call ten times before she got to me and ignored everyone telling her they couldn’t get a tech out. If they could get someone out, they would, but man, she just didn’t like hearing the word “no.”

She spent most of the time threatening legal action against both Telescreen and myself because she was “a paralegal.” Oh shit, watch out everybody.

Customer: “I ain’t missing work no more, you hear me? Remember, I said I was a damn paralegal!”

Winston: “Well I can get someone to come out this Sunday so you don’t miss work again. If you’d like, I can also call the local office to make sure you’re first on the list.”

Customer: “Ah Hell nah! Don’t you know what day that is? I go to church on Sunday!”

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Sleeping On The Job

Would this be considered reckless driving?

In order to succeed at a job and make it a career, and employee needs a desire to advance. They need to believe in the company and their position therein. The employee must understand that with some effort, they can not only benefit the company, but also themselves.

Having said that, I could (obviously) give a flying fuck about Telescreen. That’s why I sleep on the job.

Actually, it’s been awhile since I had a little nap in the cubicle. On the morning shift in Super Department, calls are one after the other for nine frantic hours straight. When I was on the late night Tech Department shift however, I had the opportunity to doze off from time to time, and even once, passed the fuck out.

Allow me to explain. When a customer gets a new receiver, if they can’t figure out how to set it up, they call us and we have to walk them through the process. It’s decidedly simple, very rarely deviating from the tried and true step-by-step process. But it sure does take a long time. We’re talking about Telescreen equipment here, so the stuff is pure monkey shit.

The agents are supposed to lead the customer only to a certain point and then end the call because they have to be available to answer more and more calls (the sweatshop mentality remember). Yet I know that if we stay on the line waiting for everything to download it will make our lives a lot better. I know customers appreciate having someone make sure everything works. I know that everything will usually work without any issues. I know that our Q and A team (Big Brother) stops listening to calls after 30 minutes. I know the call will last more than 30 minutes. I know I don’t have to follow any bullshit guidelines. I know I can chill the fuck out for a few moments in the otherwise crazy call center.

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You’re Not In My Will

No stamp collection is complete without the “Bread Forever.”

A call came my way with a woman disputing a 300 dollar charge. After searching high and low, I told her I didn’t see the charge in our system. Maybe it was from competitor Telethon and not Telescreen. Maybe her eyesight was going. Maybe she just couldn’t fucking read. Either way, she was being a pain in the ass.

Winston: “Again, I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t see the charge in our system. The only thing that will help us track down whether or not this was in fact a charge from Telescreen would be if you could send in the bank statement you have in front of you showing the 300 dollar charge.”

This made her mad because she was old, she was dumb, she was lazy, and apparently she was fucking Amish since she “didn’t have a computer.”

Winston: “I wish there was more I could do, but there’s no charge that I can reverse.”

This made her even more mad, but she kept pressing. I told her no again. She got really mad, but kept at me. I told her no again and then she pulled the pity card.

Customer: “I have cancer! I’m going to die! You’re killing me right now!”

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The Car-Sized Shit Fan

I have no idea what that means, nor do I want to know.

If you were to picture the Telescreen call-center, I’m sure you can imagine it’s as big a piece of shit as the company itself. Over the years, I’ve noticed a few things in particular that continue week after week. At this point, I can’t say I’m not surprised.

The janitors (or masters of the custodial arts) have a little system for cleaning shit up. If anything spills, leaks, etc, they just put a wet floor sign up and fucking leave it. Every damn time. Shit, I want their fucking jobs.

The cafeteria area looks pretty nasty, but when you get up close, you really get a better idea. Everything is sticky. The floors, the chairs, the tables, the counters. Not sure how or why, but I really don’t want to know.

The bathrooms look like a war zone, I mean, really goddamn disgusting. Hey, I went to college, it doesn’t bother me too much. Then I saw one day how they clean up. I was in there on my break of course (see Who Said You Could Go To the Bathoom? for further insight). Then a janitor came in, grabbed a wad of paper towel, wiped everything into the trashcan, and left. Boom, done, 10 second clean up. If you’re going to cut expenses, you might as well cut out cleaning supplies. I’ve seen that multiple times now, so it’s not a one off, but another one of their cleaning systems.

When shit breaks, shit stays broken. Lights that go out stay out, so we get bitched out by toothless trailer trash in the dark. When a toilet breaks, a plastic bag is put over it for an average of a month. The cooling system fucks up every spring and fall like clockwork. We have broken desks, chairs, and tables. The only things that are promptly fixed are the computers and phones, because God forbid we wouldn’t be taking calls every second of our shifts.

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