My Worst Call of the Day

Out to Get Me

2005-10-25T12:54:00.000-04:00

Today’s worst call came from a man who has something of a persecution complex. On the surface, his complaint was a simple dispute about a meter reading that his electric company had taken. He believed that the company misread his meter and overcharged him as a result. I get this complaint a lot, of course, but this particular caller insisted that his case was special.

“I have enemies,” he said in hushed, fearful tones. “There are people out there . . . relatives . . . neighbors . . . co-workers . . . who take great pleasure in causing me pain and suffering. I have no doubt that they are the ones behind this.” The caller spoke with such solemn earnestness that I involuntarily started choking with laughter.

After I stopped hacking up phlegm, I wheezily replied, “Um, okay . . . and do any of these people work for the electric company?”

“No, not that I’m aware of,” he confessed, “but it wouldn’t matter. My enemies have a great deal of influence in this town. They have ways of getting at me . . .”

I tried to reassure the caller that misreadings occur frequently, and suggested that he take a meter reading now and report it to the electric company. That way, the company could compare his reading with the one they took, and see how far apart the two are.

“I’m not going anywhere near that meter,” he wailed. “That’s probably just what my enemies want me to do. For all I know, they booby-trapped it, and I’d be blown to kingdom come!”

Fighting back more riotous, snorting laugher, I informed the caller in my most deadpan voice that this issue was well outside of my jurisdiction. I urged him to contact law enforcement if he felt that someone was trying to kill or maim him by tampering with his meter.

“I already have,” he hissed, “but they wouldn’t investigate either! It’s clear to me now that this conspiracy is even larger than I thought. All of you are in league with my enemies!”

And with that, he hung up, robbing me of my chance to reply, “Curses! Foiled again! But we’ll get you next time, mark my words . . . .moooahhbwahahaha . . . BWA-HA-HA-HA . . . BWA-HA- *ack, koff, hack* . . . damn . . . *wheeze* . . . fucking cigarettes . . ."

My Demands Are As Follows . . .

2005-10-17T20:53:00.000-04:00

As you’ve perhaps noticed from my earlier posts, gentle reader, many of my callers possess an unwarranted sense of entitlement. As such, they foolishly subscribe to the following series of myths:

1) There will be no negative consequences for anything I’ve done.
2) It’s always someone else’s fault.
3) The world owes me something.

But even among these clearly delusional people, there is a group of callers that has moved beyond mere entitlement to nothing less than the diva-esque issuing of edicts and demands. And it is, of course, my tragic lot in life to deal with these petty dictators. For your reading pleasure, then, here are some of the recent demands that have been shouted at me, along with the replies I desperately wanted to make.

Demand: I want you to arrest the CEO of my electric company on charges of fraud!
Reply: I can’t actually arrest anyone since I’m not a police officer, although I do enjoy dressing up as one and dancing around the house to “YMCA.”

Demand: You need to call my boss and tell him I ain’t coming to work today on account of the emotional anguish I’ve suffered since my heat got turned off!
Reply: Sure, I’d be happy to, ma’am, but I might just replace the words “emotional anguish” with “a white-hot, pustule-popping case of chlamydia.” Do you still want me to make the call?

Demand: Come to my house and help me balance my checkbook—I can’t tell if my payment to the gas company has cleared.
Reply: I want a pretty pony!

Demand: You need to get your ass down here and read my fucking meter!
Reply: Is “read my fucking meter” some kind of code for a specific sex act? And if so, how much would you pay me to perform it?

Demand: I want your agency to be disbanded ‘cause you’re all useless, and in bed with the utility companies!
Reply: I AM NOT USELESS IN BED!!! . . . what? . . . oh, I see . . . “useless, AND in bed.” Oh yeah, that’s all true—we’re totally corrupt! Sorry, my mistake.

Attack of the Crones

2005-10-11T19:17:00.000-04:00

If I believed in utter scams like astrology or feng shui, gentle reader, I’d be forced to conclude that Uranus was out of conjunction with my rising sign, or that my velvet painting of Richard Nixon was hung in an unfortuitous location. My callers today have been so horrible, and yet so similar, that the universe must be trying to send me a message of some kind. And the messenger in this case happens to be a phalanx of bitter old crones, each one more unpleasant and addled than the last.

The first aged emissary called me regarding the imminent disconnection of her electric service. I had a hard time understanding the woman at first, because her voice sounded like two balloons being rubbed together. Eventually, though, I managed to piece together her story. She was outraged because the electric company told her that her cat’s recent diagnosis of feline leukemia did not consititute a medical emergency, and would not affect the impending termination.

Unfortunately, I had to agree with what the company told her. As tragic as her pet’s condition was, only a human medical emergency can forestall a disconnection. In response, the caller squeaked that the electric company and I were in league with Satan, and she hoped we’d all freeze to death during the winter. The caller hung up before I could point out that it’s always nice and toasty in Hell.

My second old bat was a sprightly gal who hailed from one of the more, um, rural parts of my state. Apparently one day she was doing dishes and saw a squirrel climb up a utility pole in her backyard. Upset that a posse of the little critters had eaten some vegetables in her garden, and desirous of some sweet Old Testament-style vengeance, my caller reached for her shotgun and put the squirrel in her sights.

Alas, the caller’s aim was not what it used to be, and her shot missed the squirrel. It did, however, strike a transformer on the pole, showering the panicked rodent with sparks, and leaving her neighborhood without power for most of the day. Subsequently, she received a repair bill from the electric company for the sum of four-hundred dollars. She called my agency to demand that this amount be broken up into ten-dollar installments over forty months. I informed my addlepated Annie Oakley that I had no jurisdiction over this issue, but that she should thank her lucky stars the company didn’t have her rickety old ass tossed in jail. (I did actually use nicer words than this, so get that prissy look off your face.)

The last withered old crone made the most unusual request I’ve had in a while. She wanted me to call the optometrist and see if her glasses had come in yet. She said that she had been calling them every day until an employee told her to stop bothering them (I love this person), and that they would call her when the glasses were ready. I patiently explained to the woman that I worked for a government utility agency, not a messaging service, and would thus be unable to fulfill her request.

In response to this information, the caller suddenly morphed into a shieking, hissing squallcat, and launched into a rant about how no one cares if old people live or die, blah blah blah. I think her little tirade must have gone on for a few more minutes, but I can’t really say for sure since I took my headset off and went to gossip with some co-workers. By the time I came back a little while later, she had apparently hung up or died, either of which was a perfectly acceptable outcome in my eyes.

The Death of Diplomacy

2005-09-29T21:28:00.000-04:00

Not too long ago, gentle reader, I wrote about how I endeavor to treat my callers with some degree of diplomacy. This is an admirable approach, and certainly one that all customer service reps should emulate. However, the intervening months since I wrote those words have been . . . well, challenging at best. The vast sea of idiots and assholes crashes mightily upon me each day, and, as a result, my rock of diplomacy is now somewhat eroded.

All of this, I hope, will serve to explain why the following sentences escaped my mouth when speaking to various recent callers:

“Let’s see if I can reconstruct the assorted, um, chunks of information you’ve given me, and try to arrange them into something approaching coherence.”

“I’m sorry your electricity was disconnected today, sir, but the last time I checked, the electric company wasn’t providing service out of the goodness of its heart. You might want to consider actually sending them a payment now and then. Call me crazy, but this seems to work okay for the rest of us.”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand that you don’t agree with our state’s utility laws, but you see, I wasn’t really asking for your opinion.”

“While I am personally thrilled to know that you’re a taxpayer, a member of the AARP, and a veteran of the Korean conflict, sir, I was supposed to go home five minutes ago, so if there's a point to this conversation, I recommend that you get to it right now."

And finally:

“Ma’am . . (squeaky, high-pitched babbling) . . . ma’am . . . (still babbling) . . . MA’AM!!! My ears are bleeding! I need you to slow your mouth down from that chipmunk chatter to a level that humans can comprehend. And please bear in mind that I’m also taking notes, and that I only type fifty words per minute, not five-hundred.”

Given these lapses in customer service etiquette, all I can say is, thank God my job's protected by the union, or I would be so fucking fired.

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Haven’t Updated My Blog

2005-08-25T11:28:00.000-04:00

Yes, yes, I know I’ve been a bad blogger over the past few months, and I’ve violated your sacred trust, blah blah blah. But I have some really good reasons for my prolonged absence. Wanna hear them?

10. I’ve spent every waking hour since May working on my tan. My skin is the color of burnt toast, and its texture is reminiscent of beef jerky. I feel pretty.

9. Inspired by the deranged rantings of a major Hollywood crackpot, I have joined the cult of a mediocre science fiction writer, aka The Church of Scientology. As part of the brainwashing process, my sense of humor has been completely erased. As a result, I am no longer able to find humor in the mewling spastics who call me each day and waste my time with their foolishness. In fact, I am no longer able to find humor in much of anything, which makes “Battlefield Earth” a hell of a lot more difficult to watch.

8. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Hold me.

7. You don’t honestly expect me to stay cooped up indoors writing my blog, when I could be cooped up indoors surfing the internet for free porn and drinking myself to death, do you?

6. A family emergency came up. That is, if by “family” I mean someone I’ve been screwing, and by “emergency” I mean a last-minute invitation to join this person for a 10-week stay at a Sandals resort in the Bahamas, then yes, it WAS a family emergency. Don’t tell my boss, okay?

5. One morning when I was in a horribly foul mood, my boss foisted pictures of his newborn grandson on me. When forced to respond to the inevitable, “Isn’t he the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen?” I honestly replied that he looked like an undercooked meatloaf with eyes. What can I say? I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

4. I’ve decided to channel my creative juices into that gay historical romance novel I’ve always wanted to write. It’s an epic tale of love and sodomy between two pirates, and it’s called, “Bluebeard’s Sword, Blackbeard’s Scabbard.” The book is supposed to be published in time for Valentine’s Day 2006, under the Roughe Trayde imprint. Pre-order your copy now!

3. I finally caved in and followed the urgings of my friends, family, co-workers, and therapist, and started taking industrial-strength antidepressants. My job still sucks ass, of course, but I just don’t care anymore. In fact, I hardly even get upset when I discover that I’ve shit myself. Again.

2. One word, three letters: jail. I swear I didn’t know that the goat was underage.

1. My tragic substance-abuse problem took a turn for the worse three months ago. After injecting a cocktail of embalming fluid and fabric softener into a vein in my eye, I passed out and have only just regained consciousness. My doctor is calling this little episode a coma, but I prefer to think of it as an extended catnap. So can anyone tell me what’s been happening on “Days of Our Lives”?

The Gentle Art of Diplomacy

2005-05-26T18:52:00.000-04:00

Following in the footsteps of my last post, I'm writing once again about the vast difference between what is said, and what is true. With this entry, I'll be translating my typically polite, diplomatic language into the brutally honest sentiments that lie just beneath the surface.

What I say: Can I put you on hold for a minute? I need to look something up.
What I mean: I'm going to take a leak, grab a doughnut, and sneak outside for a smoke. I'm hoping you'll have hung up by the time I get back.

What I say: Oh, that's okay, sir, don't worry about it. A lot of people can't remember their own phone number.
What I mean: You shouldn't be allowed to breed, you dumbf*ck.

What I say: You want to talk to my supervisor? Sure, I'll put you right through.
What I mean: And he'll tell you the exact same thing I just did, jackass. Just because you didn't like what I told you, doesn't mean it's not true.

What I say: I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm having trouble understanding what you're saying.
What I mean: Surely you can find a better time to finish eating that piece of chicken.

What I say: If you use profanity again, sir, I will disconnect this call.
What I mean: And because I have your name and address, I'll sign you up for a lifetime subscription to the raunchiest gay porn magazine I can find.

What I say: It appears that the gas company is investigating your account for some fraudulent or unauthorized usage.
What I mean: Duuuude, you are so f*cking busted, man.

And finally:

What I say: Thanks for calling us today, and feel free to call back if you need more assistance.
What I mean: You have wasted fifteen minutes of my life with your foolishness, and I can only pray that one of my co-workers will have to deal with you next time. So goodbye, and good riddance!

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Liar Liar

2005-05-19T22:27:00.000-04:00

My many years as a customer service rep have robbed me of several things. These would include, but are not limited to: my patience, my optimism about humanity, and my overall mental health. However, for each item lost, I've also acquired something new. Along with the carpal tunnel syndrome, various drug addictions, and the occasional homicidal urge, I have gained the unerring ability to recognize when someone is not telling me the truth. Whether my callers are merely exaggerating, omitting certain information, or telling me a whopper of a bald-faced lie, I hear the whispers of truth buried beneath their chattering lies. Some examples:

Caller says: I was only a little bit past due on my phone bill.
What I hear: I could only be bothered to make one payment in the past six months, and I sent it to the company knowing the check would bounce.

Caller says: The customer service reps at the gas company will not assist me.
What I hear: After I threatened them with bodily harm, I was permanently barred from calling their office.

Caller says: The electric company disconnected me without any warning!
What I hear: Except for the notice on my last bill, the letter I received, and the message on my answering machine, all of which I decided to ignore.

Caller says: I’d like to file a class-action lawsuit against the electric company.
What I hear: I have no idea at all how the legal system works, except for what I’ve picked up from TV. I threaten to file lawsuits all the time because I am a sad, bitter, lonely old man, and I desperately need attention.

Caller says: When I called my cell phone company after my service was cut off, they were very disrespectful to me.
What I hear: They had the nerve to insist that I pay my bill before they would turn my service back on.

And finally:

Caller says: I have NO idea who authorized these charges on my phone bill for “adult entertainment,” whatever THAT is, at 1-900-SHE-MALE.
What I hear: I was drunk, horny and lonely last Friday night. And I have some VERY specific sexual tastes.

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Who's on First?

2005-05-17T23:10:00.000-04:00

Today’s worst call was from a woman whose hillbilly accent makes Granny Clampett sound like the Queen of England. Fortunately, I grew up speaking the redneck dialect, so I can usually converse with other people from "down in the holler." However, Ma Kettle's deep-backwoods brogue was a little thick, even for me. And that, along with her, um, peculiar way of putting things, led to a conversation worthy of an Abbott and Costello routine:

Me: You have reached [the name of my agency]. How can I help you?
Caller: Tha gay-uhs comp’nee ain’t showin’ a payment I done made lay-uhst week.
Me: What was the amount of the payment?
Caller: Twunnuh-fie dollah.
Me: And when did you make this 25.00 payment to the gas company?
Caller: Awn tha fee-uff an’ tha uh-lay-vunth.
Me: So you made two payments? One on the 5th, and one on the 11th of this month?
Caller: Nawo, jes’ wun payment.
Me: I’m sorry, which day did you say you made this on?
Caller: Awn tha fee-uff an’ tha uh-lay-vunth.
Me: (shaking my head in confusion) How could you make one payment on two different days?
Caller: It wuz jes’ wun day, tha fee-uff an' tha uh-lay-vunth.
Me: (growing irritated) Ma’am, those are two different days. Which date is on the receipt?
Caller: Tha fee-uff an’ tha uh-lay-vunth.
Me: (feeling my ears grow red) How can a receipt have two different dates on it??? (At this point an eavesdropping co-worker chimed in with, "It's magic!")
Caller: It's jes' got wun date awn it; the fee-uff and tha uh-lay-vunth.
Me: (literally quaking with frustration) Ma'am, how on EARTH can the 5th and the 11th be ONE day? (Again I hear, "It's magic!" from my co-worker next door)
Caller: It's tha fee-uff monf and tha uh-lay-vunth day.
Me: (comprehension slowly dawns). . . and by this you mean . . . May 11th? Am I understanding this correctly now?
Caller: Thass riyaht.
Me: Okay, I'm glad we got that straight. I'm going to put you on hold now. It might sound like I'm hanging up on you, but I'm not, so just hang on the line until I come back.
Caller: Way-ell, okay, if--
Me: *click*

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How You Can Help Me Kick My Drug Habit

2005-05-16T22:55:00.000-04:00

Oh my sweet lord, did today suck ass! The beginning of the week is terrible for everyone, I realize, but it's worse for customer service reps. Monday always has the highest call volume of the week, and it's not unusual for me to be taking calls back-to-back all day long. In addition to the sheer number of phone calls, it seemed like everyone I spoke to was either a freak, an imbecile, or both.

By midafternoon, in a desperate attempt to numb myself, I began freebasing a cocktail of rocket fuel and copier toner. After seeing an image of the Virgin Mary on a tortilla chip, I had a moment of clarity. "If only you could tell your callers how they should behave when they call you," I thought to myself, "then you might not have this tragic substance abuse problem. And one more thing," my inner voice continued, "your fly has been open all day--thought you should know."

So after I stopped twitching, I started putting together this list of things that will make my job easier. I realize that, to some degree, I'm preaching to the choir here--my readers (being perfect in every way) are already very customer service savvy. But this is the only soapbox I've got, so here I go:

1) Do not start out the conversation by saying, “You people have been pretty much worthless in the past, but I’ll give you another shot at fixing my problem.” This opening gambit will only ensure that I live up to your low expectations.

2) Please have a writing implement handy when you call. Do not waste ten minutes of my time (which could be spent helping other callers) by tearing your house apart and screaming at your children for stealing your pens.

3) Speaking of children, please do not call customer service while your infant is shrieking in the background. My headset tends to amplify this particular frequency into something approaching a million decibels. Bear in mind that I'm not very helpful when there are rivulets of blood streaming from my ears. Now that you're aware of this, surely there's a warm oven--uh, I mean a playpen you can chuck the howling little beast in while you make the call.

4) Please do not call me at 4:55pm on a Friday afternoon and begin the conversation with, "I hope you have a some time to spare, because this might take awhile . . . "
If you do this, I will start crumpling up a piece of paper to mimic the sound of static, and you will hear, "Hello? Hello? Are you still---" *click*

5) And finally, to a certain group of ladies out there:

Despite how well this technique may have worked for you in the past, copious weeping is simply annoying, and makes it hard to understand what you're saying. You may call me cruel or insensitive, but all my years in customer service have left my heart somewhat callused. As such, you would receive more sympathy from a slab of granite than you would from me. Oh, and any man who cries while speaking to me will be openly ridiculed. You can't say you haven't been warned.

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A Stupid Question, and Some Very Stupid Answers

2005-05-11T18:52:00.000-04:00

Following in the footsteps of last week's post, Double Trouble, I humbly submit another "two-for-one" for your reading enjoyment.

A Stupid Question

Yesterday, I was speaking with a very unpleasant woman who was whining about her phone company. She wanted to file a formal complaint against them, but her grievance was without any legal merit. I informed her of this, and our conversation took a turn toward the snippy. After threatening to sue both me and my agency, she squealed, "How do YOU know what the law is here? Isn't your call center in India or one of those other godforsaken places?”

While I ended up reassuring the xenophobic shrew that I'm in the U.S., this is how I wish I could have replied:

“Well, you found me out, Miss Marple! Even though I was trained by professional linguists to speak English with a redneck American accent, you managed to see right through me. My call center is located deep within The Black Hole of Calcutta, and there are cows roaming up and down the aisles. Vrishnu be praised!" I would then begin chanting at the top of my lungs until the horrified caller hung up, or until my co-workers wrestled me to the ground, whichever came first.

Some Very Stupid Answers

Me: Good morning, you have reached [the name of my agency]. Could I have your phone number, please?
Caller: 555-1234
Me: What area code is that in, sir?
Caller: 75115
Me: (rolling my eyes) I'm sorry, that's a zip code, sir. What is your area code?
Caller: Uhhh . . . Texas?
Me: (cursing under my breath) No, that is a state, sir. What is your area code?
Caller: Uhhh . . . oh, shoot, you asked me too quick . . . err . . .
Me: (blowing air out sharply through my nostrils, drumming my fingernails on my desk)
Caller: What is it you asked me for, again?
Me: (the veins in my forehead become prominent) Your AREA CODE, sir--the three digits that precede your phone number.
Caller: Oh, okay, 555.
Me: (grabbing my foam anti-stress ball, and squeezing the shit out of it) Sir, that is not an area code in this state.
Caller: Hmm . . . are you sure?
Me: (picking up the pieces of my ruptured anti-stress ball) Sir, 555 is not even an area code anywhere in the country. Let's just skip it, though. (taking a deep breath) What can I do for you today?
Caller: I just wanted to know if you wuz goin' to pick up my garbage today.
Me: (in a murderously calm voice) This agency has nothing to do with that, sir. You have called the wrong number.
Caller: Well, how would I get ahold of them?
Me: *click*

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Why I Despise Old People

2005-05-10T13:13:00.000-04:00

As you’re well aware, gentle reader, I deal with all sorts of irascible callers in the course of my day. But if I had to select the single biggest pain in my ass, it would be, without question, old people. While I freely admit that young people can also be annoying as shit, the elderly are exceptionally good at pushing my buttons. The old goats are so troublesome, in fact, that I’ve begun lobbying congress for a national policy of forced euthanasia. If I’m allowed to testify in support of this program, I’m certain that I’ll be asked (probably by an AARP-funded senator), “Why is it that you despise old people so much?” In response, I will give the following reasons:

Old people waste my time with their senseless babbling.

At the beginning of each call, I advise the person on the other end to be as concise as possible, since I have to create coherent notes from the information I’m given. Old people completely ignore these instructions, and seem incapable of sorting the significant from the meaningless. It will typically take them ten minutes to spin their yarn, when a two-sentence synopsis would have sufficed. By this time, of course, I have either fallen asleep or begun huffing oven cleaner.

Old people are rude.

You might think otherwise about this one, but let me reassure you that old people, as a group, are the rudest SOBs out there. While I’m certain that they were brought up to use polite manners, it’s clear to me that they no longer practice them. Each day, old people interrupt me, curse at me, and fail to make such basic courtesies as “please” and “thank you.” My theory is that, with the Grim Reaper in hot pursuit, the terminally aged simply don’t have the time for such pleasantries. But then, these are the same people who will drive around for two hours looking for the the “Early Bird” dinner special. Go figure.

Old people labor under the delusion that they’re still in charge.

Having forgotten that they’ve long been retired and without live-in kids, old people continue to treat others as either their subordinates, or, even worse, as their children. As such, they’re prone to lecturing and barking commands, both of which make me want to sprinkle ground-up glass in their Metamucil. During a call like this, I console myself with the fact that, while I may be forced to listen to the bleating of these dried-up old husks, I still have control of my bowels. Or at least, most of the time.

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The Haunted Trailer

2005-05-04T22:25:00.000-04:00

Just when I think my calls can’t get any crazier, I get one that’s so damn whacked-out it just leaves me speechless. Such is the case with today’s worst call. In fact, this one is so bizarre that I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me. Truth is stranger than fiction, though—you just can’t make this shit up.

The caller began by informing me that the electric company had disconnected service to her trailer several months ago, because she didn’t pay her bill. Okay, there’s nothing surprising here so far, especially given that she lives in a trailer. She added, however, that her service kept being mysteriously restored, forcing the company to come out and shut it off again.

This had happened so often, she told me, that the company was investigating her for theft, and would be pressing charges against her. The caller vigorously protested her innocence, denying that she was the one who reconnected the service. “But I know who done it, ” she said ominously, as if she were sworn to secrecy but couldn’t resist telling. “It was my family. They knew I was in trouble, and just wanted to help me out.”

I advised the caller that this wasn’t really the best way her family could assist her, as she might be prosecuted for their actions. “Have you told them to stop doing this?” I asked.

“I wish I could,” she sighed, “but they’re all dead. I’ve lost fourteen family members in the last two years.” She said this matter-of-factly, almost proudly, like the stalwart heroine of a Tammy Wynette song who’s survived one tragedy after another.

I just kind of sat there for a moment, trying to formulate a response. The best I could come up with was, “Uhhhh . . . I’m sorry? . . . did you say that your deceased relatives were the ones doing this?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” she replied earnestly, “but there’s been some pretty spooky shit happening in my trailer. I have a lot of candles, and they’ll just light themselves out of nowhere. When I try to blow them out, they fly across the room. So now I just let ‘em burn!”

Trying hard not to laugh at the thought of a candle-throwing, trailer-dwelling poltergeist, I informed the caller that my agency could not, unfortunately, assist her. We cannot intercede, I explained, in cases where fraud or theft is suspected. The caller did not take this well. “What the hell am I supposed to do NOW?” she moaned. “Is there anyone ELSE I can call?”

And it took every ounce of willpower I had not to reply, “Hmm, I dunno . . . Ghostbusters?”

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Double Trouble

2005-05-02T06:45:00.000-04:00

Today, gentle readers, you’ll be getting two for the price of one. Neither one of these calls is substantial enough to merit an individual write-up, but it seems wasteful to just toss them aside. Submitted for your amusement, then, are my two worst calls of the day.

My first nut-job was an old lady who yelled at me because I had the audacity to call her “ma’am.” “Do you know what that word MEANS?” she howled. “It’s the same as calling me a prostitute!” Baffled by her interpretation of this very polite form of address, I nonetheless apologized and told her I wouldn’t use the word again.

Bear in mind, however, that customer service reps have been trained to use the words “ma’am” and “sir” when speaking to people. Because of this, I accidentally called her “ma’am” at least two more times, which resulted in her hurling a most unladylike curse at me before hanging up. I was crestfallen, as I wanted to reassure the old crone that illicit sex was the furthest thing from my mind while listening to the harsh, crackling squawk that passes for her voice.

My second bizarre call came from a husband and wife who insisted on speaking at the same time, and at a volume usually reserved for hog-calling. After the ringing in my ears stopped, I informed the clamoring couple that I could not understand them when they spoke in tandem, and suggested that one of them remain silent while the other speaks.

I had little idea of the controversy this would generate. Both parties apparently wanted to play “alpha dog,” and the fur began to fly:

“The gas bill is in MY name.”
“Well, if you had called about this THREE WEEKS AGO like I asked, I wouldn’t have to be involved.”
“For Christ’s sake, just let me handle this.”
“You don’t know how to talk to these people.”
“Remind me again, WHICH one of us has a degree in communications?”

And so it went for the next couple of minutes, until they had the good sense to disconnect and continue their spat in private. Or maybe they heard me frantically scribbling notes, and muttering, “my readers will LOVE this!” I guess some people are just sensitive about being blog fodder. Go figure.

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The Ideal Caller

2005-04-28T23:10:00.000-04:00

Today was a horrible, no-good, very bad day for yours truly. From the first call to the last, it was one long parade of people who are just too damn stupid to live. To add insult to injury, the calls were also unbelievably dull—not a single blogworthy one in the whole bunch. This onslaught of idiocy got me thinking, however, about the kind of caller I’d be thrilled to talk to, and what qualities this mythical caller would possess.

First and foremost, the ideal caller would have a pleasant speaking voice. This is a fairly rare commodity in the state where I was born (and foolishly continue to reside). The folks here tend to pronounce the word ‘fire’ as rhyming with ‘bar,’ where, by the way, they spend the bulk of their waking hours. I could even handle the hillbilly accent if it weren’t coupled with the kind of grammar that results in sentences like: “They done come ‘long and wuz jest ‘bout to switch my ‘lectric off.” Imagine being forced to listen to the State of the Union Address for eight hours a day, and you’ll have a sense of why I sniff glue on my coffee breaks.

The next quality the ideal caller would possess is the ability to relay information in a logical and coherent manner. The most difficult part of my job is to not only decipher the stream of nonsense that callers spew at me, but to convert this babble into readable case notes that might be used in an investigation. On any given day, I will have to make sense of drivel like this: “Um, hi . . . last year . . . no, it must have been before that . . . now when did Sara have her baby . . . uh . . . a couple months after that . . . let me think . . . oh, shit . . . can I start over?”

And oh, how I want to respond, “Sure, but could you take your Ritalin first? And maybe wash it down with a tall, cool glass of lighter fluid? Would you do that for me, sweetheart? Thaaanks, you’re a doll.”

Finally, the ideal caller would have some sense of personal responsibility, however miniscule. Most of the people I talk to each day are filled with such a raging sense of entitlement that they act like they’re doing me a favor by calling to complain about their utilities. These callers will ignore their bills for, say, a year, using every ounce of charity or public assistance at their disposal. Then, after the well runs dry, they scream bloody murder when their heat or power is disconnected. “Well, what am I supposed to do now?” they roar. “I’ve got kids here and there’s no heat in the house.”

Because I’d like to hold on to this job for just a little while longer, I fight the urge to reply, “Gosh, I feel so bad for your kids. It’s not their fault that they have stupid fucking parents who should have paid their goddamn bills like the rest of us." But I bite my tongue and help them maintain the illusion that they're not worthless deadbeat parasites.

It occurs to me, though, having enumerated the traits of the Ideal Caller, that the reason I’ve never spoken with this person is because someone with these qualities is able to resolve problems on his or her own, and doesn’t need my help. That being said, I suppose I wouldn’t have a job without my half-wit callers. And I certainly wouldn’t have a blog. So God bless the morons—may they continue to provide employment and amusement for many years to come. Or at least until the economy picks up and I can get the hell out of this job! Pray for me.

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Dumb As a Box of Rocks

2005-04-25T18:29:00.000-04:00

Today's worst call was a milestone in my long and undistinguished career as a customer service rep. With the possible exception of some high-ranking elected officials, today's caller was the stupidest goddamn person I've ever talked to. Bear in mind that the people I deal with every single day are incapable of stringing three words together to form a complete sentence. So yeah, this guy could be outwitted by a cantaloupe (and not even a particularly clever one). But let me start at the beginning . . .

The caller started the conversation off by saying that he wanted to file a lawsuit against the electric company. I advised the caller that he was welcome to do that, but that he could file a complaint with my agency before resorting to legal action. He agreed to this, and explained his grievance with the company.

The problem, he stated, was that a power line had fallen onto his driveway during a storm. He called the company to report the downed line, but after waiting for half an hour, he decided to move the line himself. He did this, he informed me, because he was "a very busy man with places to go and people to see." The caller also told me that, at the time, he suspected it was a live wire, but that he wasn't too worried about moving it.

Given this information, should it come as any surprise that Mr. Dumbass received the jolt of his life upon touching the wire? Apparently the patron saint of complete morons was on duty, however, as he was merely injured and not reduced to a pile of idiotic ash. Unfortunately, the caller was no wiser despite his brush with death, and blamed the electric company for his own stupidity.

To his dismay and my delight, I informed the caller that he had no basis whatsoever for a complaint. After being stunned into silence for a moment, he shrieked something about including my agency in the lawsuit, and hung up on me. I hated to see him go, because I felt it was my duty to warn him about other possible hazards that he's clearly too damn stupid to recognize. These warnings would have included:

Don't pee into an electrical outlet.
Fire is pretty, but it can hurt you.
Do not poke a sleeping bear in the genitals (or anywhere else, really).
Avoid stepping into the path of an oncoming train.

And finally: Don't piss off a customer service rep who has access to all your personal information. Moooowah-bwa-ha-ha-ha!

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Call Me Back After Taking Your Meds, Okay?

2005-04-12T19:15:00.000-04:00

Today's worst caller may well have earned the dubious honor of being the most mentally ill person I've ever spoken with (outside my own family, of course). The caller started out by announcing in a weird, hazy voice that she had a whole laundry list of things she wanted me to take care of. This by itself is not unusual, however irritating I might find it. The trouble is, none of her complaints had anything to do with utilities; and furthermore, I believe that the caller's problems existed only in the carnival sideshow that passes for her mind.

Crazy lady's first complaint was that all her mail was being stolen. And the culprit? "It's all the goddamn illegal aliens in my neighborhood," she said, her voice beginning to slur. She added that these were especially clever illegal aliens, as they had stolen not just her incoming mail, but letters that she had sent out, as well.

The caller then regaled me about her many instances of nearly being raped, assaulted, or murdered by these people. "And on top of that," she continued, "they break in here and steal the fish out of my fishtank. God only knows what they do with them."

At this point, trying hard to rein in my laughter, I felt compelled to inform the caller that there was nothing I could do about these issues. "You mean you can't arrest these bastards and send them back to their own godforsaken countries?" she asked incredulously. I replied that I could not, given that none of this had anything to do with her gas, electric, or phone service.

As I started to refer her to local law enforcement (on the off chance that any of what she said was true), she became angry and accused me of being "in league with THEM." The caller then proceeded to slam the phone down, thus ending my glimpse into the sad but entertaining world of the irretrievably unhinged.

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Do I Look Like the F*cking Yellow Pages?

2005-04-08T17:55:00.000-04:00

In addition to the dozens of complaints I listen to each day, I also receive a fair number of misdialed or misdirected calls. This is par for the course at most government agencies, but it's complicated by the fact that our customer service number appears on every utility bill that's issued within the state. The number is there for people who are having unresolved disputes with their gas, electric or phone companies, and is labeled as such on the bill.

However, because people tend to randomly dial any phone number listed on their utility bill, they get connected to my office without knowing who they're actually calling. That being said, here are three recent, painful conversations I've had along these lines.

Caller #1

Me: Welcome to [the name of my agency]. How may I assist you?
Caller: Yeah, I need to pay my bill. You need my Visa card?
Me: I think you have the wrong number. Who were you trying to call?
Caller: The phone company.
Me: This is not the phone company. This is a government agency.
Caller: What's their number?
Me: Whose number?
Caller: The phone company's.
Me: Sir, I have no way of knowing who your phone company is.
Caller: So you don't have their number?
Me: I'm sure I have it, but you haven't told me which phone company it is.
Caller: You mean there's more than one?

Caller #2

Me: Welcome to [the name of my agency]. How may I assist you?
Caller: Did you shut my gas off?
Me: Um, no.
Caller: Why'd you shut my gas off?
Me: I did not shut your gas off, ma'am.
Caller: It says here you did.
Me: This is a government agency, ma'am, not a utility company. We do not shut people's gas off [however annoying they might be].
Caller: Ain't you the gas company?
Me: Again, this is a government agency. We are not your gas company.
Caller: Well, what's their number?

Caller #3

Me: Welcome to [the name of my agency]. How may I assist you?
Caller: Can you answer a question for me? Why are gasoline prices so high right now?
Me: I'm sorry, this agency only regulates natural gas.
Caller: That's pretty much the same thing.
Me: No sir, I'm afraid it's not. We have absolutely no authority over gasoline prices.
Caller: Well, who WOULD have authority? These prices are OUTRAGEOUS!
Me: I'm sorry, I have no idea.
Caller: [condescendingly] Don't you think you should KNOW about this?
Me: Sir, there's no way I can know which agency would regulate every single thing that we have no jurisdiction over. If I had to guess, I'd say you should contact someone on the federal level, the Department of Energy, perhaps?
Caller: Fine, I'll call them. Now what's their number?

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The End is Near . . . Isn't It?

2005-04-07T07:25:00.000-04:00

Today’s worst caller was so painfully deluded that he’s more to be pitied than scorned. However, my dozen or so loyal readers have come to expect a certain, shall we say, hard-heartedness from me, and I’m not one to disappoint my fans. So I’ll dispense with the pity and serve up a generous helping of fresh-baked scorn with a side order of cool disdain.

The conversation began typically enough, with the caller informing me that his power was about to be shut off. “I’m not sure I’m going to pay my bill, though,” he added casually. “I don’t think I’ll need my electric for much longer.” And, fool that I am, I asked him why this was.

“Well,” he replied, “have you ever heard of eschatology?” His voice was bubbling with the kind of glassy-eyed enthusiasm usually reserved for the hosts of infomercials, Amway distributors, and Mormons. Feeling a fresh headache being born inside my skull, I murmured that I had not. “Eschatology,” he lectured, “is the study of the ‘End Times,’ from the book of Revelation, in the Bible.” (As opposed to the book of Revelation in, say, The Joy of Cooking?)

“Mm-hmm,” I said noncommittally, hoping he’d get to the point of all this.

“The ‘End Times’ are near, I can tell you that,” he said with authority, “and the Pope’s death is a sign. It’s just a matter of days at this point before ‘The Rapture’ occurs.”

“And,” I replied, trying to mask the ridicule in my voice, “this is why you’re not concerned about your power being shut off? And if so, I’m not sure why you contacted my agency if you didn’t need assistance.” The caller paused a moment, then conceded that he might need a couple days’ extension to pay his bill, just in case the coming apocalypse didn’t proceed on schedule.

So I helped the caller get his extension from the electric company, then bid him bon voyage on his imminent departure. After I hung up, I began thinking about his talk of “The Rapture” and “End Times,” and it filled me with a warm, tingling feeling. If what he said were true, the number of inane phone calls I receive each day would plummet as he and his ilk rose heavenward. Let us pray.

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Up Jumped the Devil

2005-04-01T00:16:00.000-05:00

Today's worst caller was the Prince of Darkness. I'm not kidding. Satan himself called me today, and while I wasn't surprised to find out that he's a slumlord, I did rather expect him to have better manners. But let me start at the beginning.

Halfway through my introductory spiel, Satan interrupted me and asked to speak directly to a manager. This is never an auspicious way to begin a conversation, but I played along. I asked the caller's name, to see if he was following up on an earlier call. I couldn't find anything in the computer, but to double-check, I asked him to spell his last name for me. Satan was in a snit, though, and he snarled back at me, "I asked to speak with a MANAGER! Is one available or not?"

So I transferred Satan to my supervisor, giving him my customary warning, "I've got a live one for ya, boss!" And with that, the Prince of Darkness was no longer my concern, and I could move on to the next inevitable douchebag.

About ten minutes later, Boss-man dragged himself into my very cluttered cubicle to give me the scoop (as I dearly hoped he would). In an exhausted but triumphant manner, he recounted his little chat with Satan. It turns out that the Prince of Darkness wanted to know if he, as a landlord, could have his tenants' utilities shut off immediately, and without notice. And why, you might ask, did he want to do this? Why, in order to force them out of their apartments, of course! Apparently the legal eviction process was just taking up too much of Satan's precious, precious time (stealing souls and driving up the price of gas aren't just hobbies, after all).

Well, Boss-man set the Devil straight, of course. Most of the landlord/tenant utility laws on the books are designed to prevent exactly this kind of situation, protecting tenants from unscrupulous landlords, Satanic or otherwise. Upon hearing the bad news, my boss informed me, the Prince of Darkness flew into a cloven-foot-stamping, batwing-flapping rage and promptly hung up.

You know, it's small victories like this, against the forces of evil or ignorance, that allow me to make it through the day without handing in my notice. That, and the fact that I have no other way of making a living, except possibly as a street whore. And believe me, that job's looking better every day.

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Shock and Awe

2005-03-29T21:48:00.000-05:00

Today’s worst call was the most memorable one I’ve had for quite a while. As my loyal readers know, given the number of crazy-ass calls I receive each day, this is no mean feat. However, this particular caller managed to pull ahead of the pack with his first unforgettable sentence, which went something like this:

“Um, hi, I just wanted to inform your agency that I’ve been electrocuted several times by my telephone.”

It was, I confess, a phrase that I never imagined I would hear, and I was wholly unprepared for it. I had to stifle my first reaction (maniacal, snorting laughter) so that I could get more of the story, which I sensed would be exceptionally blogworthy. I also refrained from pointing out that, by definition, no one can be electrocuted more than once (and that they tend not to call customer service after the fact).

The caller went on to say that this only happened when he received calls from telemarketers, and he wondered (with no trace of humor or irony) if they were intentionally doing this to him. After coughing loudly to cover up my escaping laughter, I informed the caller that: 1) unless lightning strikes the wire, the very small amount of current in his phone line is not sufficient to deliver anything more than a mild shock; and 2) as unsavory as telemarketers may be, they do not as yet have the technology to conduct Pavlovian experiments on unsuspecting victims.

Finally, I suggested to my caller that he purchase a new phone to remedy the problem. And if I didn’t need this job so much, I would have added, “and while you’re at it, buy yourself some goddamn sense, ya dumbass.” But instead, I bid the caller goodbye, took off my headset with a sigh, and reached for the barbiturates in my desk drawer.

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

2005-03-24T19:09:00.000-05:00

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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Crazy, Psychic, or Both?

2005-03-22T22:02:00.000-05:00

Today's worst call came from a man whom, at first, I had believed to be a paranoid schizophrenic. The caller stated that he had just spoken with a colleague of mine, and wanted to know what what he had written in the case notes. I asked the caller if the purpose of this was to confirm that my co-worker had taken down his information properly. "No," he replied, "I just KNOW he was writing nasty things about me in the notes, and I want to know what he said."

So after mentally placing this caller in the 'crazy as a shit-house rat' folder, I pulled up the notes for the call. To my amazement, my colleague had indeed written some very off-color comments about the caller. To give you some idea, these were so bad (but probably accurate) that I wouldn't have written them in this anonymous blog, let alone in a document that had my name all over it.

But even so, I wasn't about to narc on a fellow rep. Using the skills I've acquired as a CSR, I told the caller a complete and utter lie. I informed him that there was nothing at all objectionable in my colleague's notes, just the facts of his case. To which the caller, using the skills he's acquired as either a psychic or a crazy person, replied that he didn't believe me. And as a bonus, he also asked to be transferred to my manager.

"Well, crap," I thought, "now my co-worker and I are both screwed." So I put Mr. Crazy-Psychic-Whatever-He-Is on hold, and called my new partner in crime, advising him to clean up his case notes in the next thirty seconds. After getting the all-clear signal, I happily bumped the caller up the chain of command, and off of my phone.

Afterward, just for fun, I went back and read the notes on some of my colleague's other cases. I ended up regretting this, though--it became increasingly clear that my co-worker is a much funnier writer than I am, and I'm positively consumed by jealousy. I'd suggest that he channel his caustic talents into a blog, but hey, this is my little strip of sidewalk, and I ain't movin'.

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Lost in Translation

2005-03-21T17:46:00.000-05:00

Today's worst caller was a man with a strange medical condition. Apparently he was unable to comprehend anything that I was saying, and felt obliged to translate my clear, simple words into a language that I have dubbed "Idiotese." Since no paraphrase of the conversation could do it justice, here is a rough transcript:

Caller: I have a problem with my city water department.
Me: I'm sorry, this agency only regulates investor-owned utility companies. We do not have any jurisdiction over utilities run by cities or villages.
Caller: So what does that mean?
Me: It means we have no authority to investigate complaints about your city water department.
Caller: So that means the water department can just do what they want?
Me: Not at all. Your city mayor's office or city council would have authority over the city's water department.
Caller: Well, I have a pending lawsuit with the city council right now [at this point, the "crazy old person with nothing better to do but litigate" alarm has just gone off in my head]. Can anybody else help me?
Me: You could contact your county commissioners and see if they can assist you.
Caller: So why can't YOU help me?
Me: Again, this agency does not have any authority over utilities run by cities or villages.
Caller: Well, why not?
Me: Because we were not granted those powers by the state legislature.
Caller: Well, what DO you do?
Me: Again, we regulate investor-owned utility companies.
Caller: Well, uh, if this were something you regulated, could you help me?
Me: [not playing the "if" game, having been burned before] I can't address hypothetical questions. As I've said, your situation falls outside of our jurisdiction.
Caller: So this means they can just RAPE the customers and not have to answer to ANYONE?
Me: [having déjà vu] I've already answered this question.
Caller: You people up there are no help at all! I'm going to call my congressman!

And at this point, blessedly, he hung up on me. Frankly, though, I think calling his congressman is a good idea. Having met a few of them myself, I'm sure there will be no language barrier between them at all.

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Another Phrase I’d Give My Left Kidney to Never Hear Again

2005-03-17T18:30:00.000-05:00

“I’m a Christian, and I was NOT treated right.”

I hear this phrase at least once a week, usually uttered by an outraged caller who’s just spoken with someone at his gas or electric company. And every time I hear this, the slender thread of my patience becomes a little more frayed. Apparently these callers are laboring under the delusion that their religion has anything to do with the level of customer service they receive. In fact, the opposite is true--among our constitutional guarantees is the right for everyone to be treated like shit by customer service.

I should note that I have never once heard an indignant Jew, Buddhist, or Muslim invoke his faith regarding a dispute with a customer service rep. I’m also letting Catholics and the “vanilla” Protestant denominations off the hook here--an Episcopalian would rather go without electricity than bring the Lord into an argument of this nature (after all, someone might mistake him for a Baptist).

But you know, this got me thinking that it really would be cool if companies had a means of classifying customers by their belief systems. So here is my modest proposal for just such a thing, using an automated voice response system:

“Thank you for calling Company X. In order to better assist you, please enter your religion using the following prompts:

#1. Evangelical Christianity. (Appalachian-sounding male voice accompanied by fiddle and banjo.) Your call will be answered right quick by good white folk who were born right here in the good old U.S. of A. There’s no dot-heads or other heathens here, nosiree-bob! If there’s more than an hour’s wait to speak to one of us, it must mean the Rapture has done come along, and we’re all wrapped in the embrace of our Heavenly Father.”

#2. Buddhism. (Richard Gere’s soothing voice accompanied by muted bells and chimes.) Contemplate the infinite while waiting for one of our highly-evolved customer service bodhisattvas to help you along the path to enlightenment. We sincerely hope that this delay will not cause you any inconvenience, but remember that suffering makes one wise.

#3. Judaism. (Brooklynese-accented female voice accompanied by the score of “Fiddler on the Roof.”) Oh my Gawd, it is such a horrible shame that we're keeping you on hold like this. My hand to Gawd, we will get to you as soon as we can, bubie. But you know, when you think about what our people have had to endure over thousands of years, spending a little time on the phone isn’t so bad, now is it? And shame on you for thinking you're too good to wait in line like everyone else, Mister Big-Shot!

#4. Islam. (Stern male voice accompanied by "The Star-Spangled Banner.") Stay where you are! A team of INS and FBI agents, along with local law enforcement, will arrive at your location shortly. Do not resist, repeat, do NOT resist!"

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Why I Have a Tragic Drinking Problem

2005-03-15T18:35:00.000-05:00

Today, gentle readers, I reached a dubious milestone in my career as a customer service rep: I actually hung up on a caller for a reason other than the use of profanity. This particular call came from a man whose medicine cabinet is surely packed full of prescribed anti-psychotic drugs. The problem is, he's not taking them anymore.

The caller requested that I contact another government agency to resolve an issue he's been having with them. Unfortunately, my office has absolutely nothing to do with this other agency--it would be like asking the Lottery Commission for help in obtaining a fishing license. As such, I informed the caller that his issue was completely outside of my jurisdiction.

"But it is your jurisdiction," he bleated, "you're the guv'ment, and so's this other place I'm having trouble with." Apparently to this poor benighted soul, the government is just one big Lego structure whose parts and functions are wholly interchangeable. This caller would make no distinction at all between, say, the I.R.S. and the city sewage department. Hmm . . . okay, I'm having trouble seeing the difference here, too, but you get my drift.

Anyway, I repeated that this was not, in fact, something that I could help the caller with. "So you're not going to fix my problem for me?" he asked incredulously. I replied that I would not, at which point he began debating me about the scope and authority of my own agency, about which he knew less than nothing. After we argued about this for roughly ten minutes, I informed this nut-job that I had other calls to take, and our little chat would have to come to an end. He began to squawk again, and I promptly hung up the phone, cutting him off in mid-babble.

It's calls like this that remind me why I keep a bottle of Jack Daniel's in my filing cabinet. And why I buy it in bulk.

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Dude, Where's My Truck?

2005-03-11T23:22:00.000-05:00

Today’s calls were fairly uneventful, so instead I’m offering up a chestnut from my days as a customer service rep at a trucking company. During my employment there, my fellow reps and I maintained a list of the most outrageous excuses for missed pickups or deliveries. Here are the top five, as I remember them. Enjoy.

1) Missed delivery due to bad gas. We were never really sure if this applied to the truck or the driver.

2) Missed delivery due to lack of personnel; all the drivers were drunk at Mardi Gras.

3) Missed delivery because, while en route, the driver won the Arizona state lottery and ditched the truck by the side of the road, never to be heard from again.

4) Missed pickup because the circus was in town. We were never actually given a reason as to why this caused the missed pickup, but the possibilities are intriguing.

5) Missed delivery due to a sucked tube. We assumed this was something technical related to the truck, but it’s also equally possible that the driver detoured at a rest stop along the way . . . lucky bastard.

More of these to come, assuming I can remember any more. I lost a good chunk of my long-term memory after a drunken escapade at Mardi Gras one year. And if anyone here knows a truck driver named Ramon, tell him I still have his keys.

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And Who the Hell Might YOU Be?

2005-03-10T23:46:00.000-05:00

Today's worst call actually started out pretty well. I was speaking to a very pleasant and articulate young woman who had a billing dispute with her phone company. However, without warning, another voice came on the line and interrupted the woman. This new person was neither pleasant nor articulate, and in a very shrewish tone she proceeded to state her demands regarding the dispute.

"Excuse me," I replied, when she finally stopped yapping long enough to take a breath. "I was speaking to the other woman. If you would like my assistance, you need to identify yourself."

Taken aback for a moment, she quickly recovered herself and then snapped that she was the caller's mother-in-law. "She and my son live with me," she said curtly, "and I oversee all their financial dealings." Great, I thought; what a barrel of laughs that must be. And the whole time this overbearing sow was squealing at me, all I could think was how embarrassed her daughter-in-law must have been. It also crossed my mind that I'd rather take up residence in a cozy refrigerator box under a bridge somewhere, than live with this gorgon.

Anyway, to resolve the caller's dispute, I needed to open an investigation. And as the young woman was the sole account holder for the phone line, I could not discuss the case with anyone but her. So I gleefully instructed the ogre-in-law to clear the line (preferably before a house from Kansas fell from the sky and landed on her). I knew, of course, that as soon as this poor girl was off the phone, the harpy would make her life miserable again, but it sure as hell wasn't gonna happen on my watch.

And for you hopeful brides out there, this would be the moral of the story:

Never marry a man whose mother hasn't got the good sense to be dead already.

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Beware These Callers, Part Deux

2005-03-09T22:07:00.000-05:00

Continued from an earlier post. These are the callers that drive mild-mannered customer service reps to commit suicide, homicide, or both. I myself prefer the last option, but then I'm an overachiever.

6) The Ranter. This caller has lost all sense of perspective (assuming he had any to begin with), and has succumbed to the illusion that his problem is the Only Thing That Matters Anymore. Even worse, he will demand that you share his little delusion. Trying to assist him will be difficult, however--his rant will swell from the problem at hand to encompass all of Creation. If your ranter happens to be elderly (and most of them are), his tirade will not stop until he shrieks the magic words, “Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph, this world’s just going to Hell in a handbasket!” This may be accompanied by a wet, popping sound that is most likely a blood vessel bursting in righteous indignation.

The upside of this is, after the climax of his sad little diatribe, this caller will now be weak as a kitten, barely able to speak. And some people say there’s no justice in the world.

7) Mr. Indirect. This caller is exceptionally long-winded, and will trace his problems with the electric company all the way back to the Peloponnesian War. But despite his verbal diarrhea, the caller seems pathologically unable to phrase a direct question, leaving you to guess what it is that he actually wants. After a few minutes of the caller's pointless spew, I attempt to plow through the muck with the following questions: 1) “What is the purpose of your call?" and 2) "What exactly is it that you would like me to do for you?”

And the rest of the conversation goes something like this:

Caller: “Geez, haven’t you been LISTENING to me?”
Me: Silent, suppressed rage, followed by a wet, popping sound.
Caller: “Hey, what’s that wet, popping sound? Hello? Hello?"

8) The Interrupter. This caller may be the most frustrating of the bunch. He absolutely will-- not-- let-- you-- finish-- a-- sentence. I used to try (in vain) to squeeze my words in as quickly as I could, but I’ve since found a better approach. After the first few interruptions, I cease talking altogether. Mind you, it sometimes takes several minutes before the caller notices. However, once he realizes there’s nothing but an echo on the other end of the line, he panics: “Hello? Hello? Are you still there?”

After letting him hang for another second or two, I smoothly reply, “I’m sorry, were you waiting for a response? I figured that since you’d interrupted me every time I tried to speak, that your questions were rhetorical in nature. If you do actually need my assistance, you may want to let me finish what I’m saying.” What I love about this response is that it really pisses the caller off, but it’s not actually rude if delivered in the proper tone.

And as such, your supervisor can’t give you any shit about it (as if you care about such things).

I regret to inform you that there will be more of these undesirable callers to follow. And please feel free to submit your own horrible callers by posting a comment.

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Two Idiotic Phrases I Would Give a Kidney To Never Hear Again

2005-03-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

The following are merely two examples of the mindless things I hear every day as a customer service rep:

1. “Are you a real person?” This query comes after I have already introduced myself by name. And I just barely restrain myself from replying, “Think about what you just asked, you lobotomized freak—if I were a recording, you wouldn’t get an answer to this question, and if I am a real person, you’re only going to piss me off with your stupidity.” On days when my patience hasn’t been completely exhausted, I reply to this question with a forced chuckle, saying, “That’s what they tell me around here.” And on bad days, I simply reply with a long, slow, “Yesssssssssssss,” hoping the caller will gauge from my tone exactly how inane his question is.

2. “I’m on a fixed income.” This classic phrase usually comes from some old goat complaining about his electric bill. And it takes everything I have not to scream back, “We’re ALL on a fixed income, you old coot!” In fact, where I come from, no rank-and-file state employees have had raises for over three years! At least with social security, you get cost-of-living increases, so can we please put this tired old phrase to rest? ‘Cause if I hear it one more time, I’m going to crawl through the phone line and snatch out some unlucky caller’s dentures. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

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Scrooge McBitch

2005-03-07T17:55:00.000-05:00

Today’s worst caller contacted my agency after she found something shocking—yes, SHOCKING—on her gas bill. She had discovered that a portion of her bill went to fund heating assistance programs for people living at or near the poverty level. And let me tell you, she was none too happy about it. She called the gas company first, wanting to know exactly how much of her bill this amounted to. They, being a utility company, were completely useless, of course, so they kindly referred her to my office.

By the time I spoke with this caller, I could already hear the foam dripping from her mouth. She was under the impression that around fifty dollars of her gas bill went toward these programs. After I explained that it was less than two dollars of her $200.00 gas bill, I assumed she would be relieved. She wasn’t. She launched into a rant about how things are tough for everyone, and that she didn’t know why she needed to pay other people’s bills. I hastened to point out that, while I understood her feelings, the program was there for her, too, in case she and her family might ever need it.

She responded to this as if I had suggested that she take a sharp stick and shove it up her ass (or perhaps she was just reading my mind). She began shrieking that she wanted all the money back that she ever contributed to this program. I advised her that this was impossible, but she was welcome to contact her state senator (or someone equally useless) to see about changing the state’s utilities laws.

At which point she told me to go fuck myself. And with those magic words, I hung up on her, thus bringing our conversation to an abrupt but deeply satisfying ending.

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Beware These Callers

2005-03-02T18:56:00.000-05:00

In lieu of my usual blather about my worst call of the day, I thought I'd mix it up a bit. Here, then, are the kinds of callers that customer service reps like myself endeavor to avoid:

1) Chatty Cathy. I don’t often envy the deaf, but this caller makes me long for a world of eternal silence. If you are unlucky enough to have this caller on your line, settle in for a nice long chat. You won’t have to say very much, of course—just the occasional grunt will do. You may even want to use this call as an opportunity to go to the bathroom, clean up your desk, or read (perhaps even write) that novel you’ve been wanting to get to. But if human melodrama is your cup of tea, then by all means listen to Chatty Cathy’s monologue. She’ll babble on about her sister’s female trouble and her children’s struggles with ADD, without ever getting to the point of her call. After a few hours of this, however, she’ll discover that she’s called the wrong number, and will then proceed to waste someone else’s time. What I’ve discovered about this caller is, if you listen closely enough, underneath her ceaseless squawking, you can actually HEAR the hamster wheel spinning in her head.

2) The Conspiracy Theorist. This caller will probably wish to remain anonymous, but will proceed at length to tell you how the gub’ment, big business, and even The Trilateral Commission have conspired in order to manipulate natural gas prices, thus driving up his monthly bill. Be warned: nothing you say will make him think otherwise, and if you argue with him, he may very well begin stalking you.

3) The Know-Nothing. This caller thinks he knows everything about your company, your industry, and, well, everything. Unfortunately, he gets all his information from other know-nothing sources: the guys at the auto-body shop, his idiot brother-in-law, Fox News, etc. And boy, is he surprised to hear that, yes, your heat CAN be disconnected in the winter if you don’t pay your bill. And he ALWAYS wants to speak to your supervisor ‘cause he doesn’t believe you. I’d almost pity this caller for his perpetual ignorance if he weren’t such a complete shit.

4) Lazy Lips, aka Mushmouth. This caller just can’t be bothered to form complete syllables, let alone whole words or sentences. Even though it sounds like a foreign language, it’s actually English as spoken (or, well, mouthed) by a native from your same region. Did the caller just wake up? Is she drunk? Was her tongue cut out by the Spanish Inquisition? These are all plausible explanations, but I think the horrifying truth is that this is just the way some people mumble through life.

5) Mr. Speakerphone. There’s a very special place in my colon for this caller. The speakerphone, as I understand it, was designed so that more than one person on each end could participate in a phone conversation. However, Mr. Speakerphone uses this device for ALL his calls, unwilling to sully has hands with a phone handset. The message this conveys is, “I am simply too important (read: lazy) to actually pick up the phone.” The problem is, most speakerphones suck, and the caller’s voice ends up being mangled. Even when it’s crystal clear, however, I pretend I can’t understand the caller, so he’s forced to use the handset. You may say it’s childish, but I say I just don’t like to reward rude behavior.

Sadly, there will be more of these to follow.

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POTUS Invoked, or, Half A Mind Is Better Than None

2005-03-01T20:28:00.000-05:00

Today’s winner is a caller who had a dispute with his telephone company over a past due balance. The disputed amount was fairly small, less than $30.00. Still, it sounded as though the caller had a legitimate complaint, so I started putting an investigation together on his behalf.

While I was doing this, the caller was still venting about the dispute. At one point, he informed me that he had “half a mind to contact [his] former employer about this dispute, and have HIM take care of it.” He clearly wanted me to ask who this former employer might be. I, foolishly, thought it might be germane to the investigation, and so, to my later regret, I took the bait.

“I am,” he informed me, “a former Yew-nited States Marine, and I have half a mind to inform President George Walker Bush (whose last name he pronounced as rhyming with ‘douche’) about this situation. Now I KNOW you know who HE is.” I confirmed that I had indeed heard a little something about this person. I suggested, however, that as POTUS has rather a lot on his plate right now, he may want to let my agency investigate the complaint first, before calling in his big gun.

This seemed to set his mind (or at least the half of it he was using) at ease. I'm just glad he wasn't a former minister, although frankly some of the telecom companies I deal with would deserve to have the wrath of God visited upon them. You know who you are.

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Are You Calling Me A Liar?

2005-02-25T20:26:00.000-05:00

Nuttiest of all my callers today (and it is a full moon, so they were pretty freaking nutty) was a woman who called about an issue with her electric company. When I asked for her name, she stated that she preferred to remain anonymous, and I knew right then she was going to be trouble. She was upset that the company had asked for her social security number, in order to establish a new account. Well, she had probably been watching those damn Citibank commercials, and felt like her identity (such as it is) was in danger of being stolen by someone at the electric company.

I explained that the company requested her SSN in order to avoid identity theft, and not encourage it. The idea is to prevent someone from fraudulently initiating service in someone else's name, and requiring an SSN makes that harder to accomplish. However, the paranoid schizophrenic on the other end of the line wasn't buying it. She stated in her most righteous voice that she was not going to listen to these LIES I was telling her.

Mind you, I am a veteran customer service rep. This is my fourth job as a CSR, and I used to work at the DMV, so I'm used to taking all kinds of abuse from people. But being called a liar was, I confess, a complete shock, and I just sat there for a few seconds, stunned by her remark.

When I recovered myself, I proceeded to inform her (in a very cool but civil tone) that state law allowed the electric company to request her SSN, and that she would have a hard time setting up a new account without giving hers out. Now it was her turn to be taken aback, but my spunky little psycho caller came back strong with the following admonishment:

"I hope you know just what kind of a country you're creating with these policies!"

To which I replied: "I would be happy to document your concerns, ma'am, but first I need your name, phone number, and mailing address."

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A Woman of No Small Consequence

2005-02-24T19:31:00.000-05:00

Today's worst call involved a woman who was having problems with her phone service. She spoke to me in the slow, carefully modulated, patronizing voice I have come to identify as belonging to those who are deeply in love with themselves. The caller took great pains to identify herself as a pastor, a physician, and (most impressive of all) a notary public. The problem with her phone service did not lie, as I discovered, with her immediate provider, but with the company her provider leases the phone lines from. She wanted my agency to investigate her issue with the company that owns the phone lines, but as she was not their direct customer, we could not pursue the issue on her behalf.

This was a woman not accustomed to being denied, and she ranted and raved at me for close to half an hour. Toward the end of the call, she shrieked that she had been without phone service for six days. She asked me how would I like it if, after she had operated on me, she had left a sponge or other medical instrument in my body for six days. I should add that this was NOT a rhetorical question--she was actually expecting an answer from me. When I responded that I didn't really see the two issues as being comparable, she exploded into another shrill hissy fit and hung up on me.

Which was too bad, really, because I wanted to leave her with this parting shot:

While I may not be a doctor, you self-important cow, at least my phone works.

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King of the Douchebags

2005-02-23T21:55:00.000-05:00

Today's "worst call" winner called me to complain that he was upset with his phone company. I hear that a lot, of course, but the reason for his complaint was rather novel. He was unhappy that his phone company offers particular benefits to its employees, including: 1) donating matching funds to organizations its employees contribute to, including (gasp) Planned Parenthood, and 2) that it sponsors a group for the company's gay employees.

This caller told me that the company's funding of these activities infringed on his constitutional rights (he omitted which particular ones these might be), and that he didn't want to see his money spent on things he didn't approve of.

Ultimately, since my manager frowns on me telling people to go get a fucking life, all I could do was explain that my agency has no jurisdiction over issues like this (frivolous and inane as they are), and suggest that he find a new phone company (preferably a Halliburton subsidiary) if he was unhappy with this one.

I weep for people with this much spare time on their hands.

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Introduction

2005-02-23T20:35:00.000-05:00

As a customer service rep, I spend a good deal of time on the phone each day, much of it spent providing information to kind, reasonable, intelligent people. However, I also receive calls from the whiny, the arrogant, and those who are simply too stupid to live. As you may imagine, these calls tend to be more memorable, and occasionally, even blog-worthy.

To give you some background about the kind I calls I receive, I work for a government agency that regulates public utilities, particularly the gas, electric, and phone companies. I receive calls each day that vary from the serious: "Oh my God, they just shut off my heat and it's 15 degrees outside!"--to the ridiculous: "I think aliens are tapping into my phone line."

That said, welcome to the blog: my outlet, my therapist, and my antidote to the madness of my daily calls from Hell.