My Worst Call of the Day

From the dozens of idiotic calls I take each day as a customer service representative, I humbly submit the winner.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

The Top Ten Signs That I Can't Work in Customer Service Much Longer

All my calls today were so amazingly bad, I couldn't pick the worst one if I had to. So instead of revisiting painful memories of my day, Gentle Reader, I'll give you something better: a chilling portrait of a once-dedicated customer service representative who is slowly cracking under the pressure.

Number Ten: I can tell you exactly how many minutes there are until I retire.

Number Nine: There's more alcohol in my urine than in a pina colada.

Number Eight: The voices in my head don't stop after I take off my headset.

Number Seven: Obscene phone calls and death threats have become a refeshing change from the usual crap I hear each day.

Number Six: I find myself reminiscing fondly about the days when I cleaned bowling alleys for a living, at minimum wage.

Number Five: My sympathy and general goodwill have been replaced by a deep and abiding hatred of all human life.

Number Four: I've begun to envy the unemployed, the disabled, and the dead.

Number Three: I'm starting to become fascinated by serial killers, and suddenly The Catcher in the Rye makes sense to me.

Number Two: I pray for a cataclysmic natural disaster that will sweep the civilized world back to the Dark Ages, thus eliminating the need for customer service representatives.

And the number one sign that I can't work in customer service much longer is:

I'm writing a whiny-ass blog about my cushy, decently paid government job, when there are people starving in the streets. What an ASSHOLE I must be!


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