Is it César Chávez Day yet?
2012 is now upon us, gentle reader. Everyone rides the New Year’s resolution train for about a month, making sure to stick to their resolutions for, well, about a month. The gym is twice as crowded as normal. The self-help section of the bookstore is empty. The organic food is suddenly sparse in the grocery store.
In thinking of resolutions, I couldn’t help but make some for my extremely stupid friends:
Angry Assholes: I resolve not to get so worked up this year over things that don’t matter. This list includes television service. If my bill is four dollars more than normal, I won’t call in, demand a supervisor, and scream and curse at the poor son-of-a-bitch (Winston) on the other end of the phone. I will realize that such behavior is not generally accepted in normal society. I wouldn’t scream and yell at a librarian in the middle of the fucking library. Oh wait, I did that last week. That’s why I’m a piece of shit. Well, I guess I have my work cut out for me this year!
Irate Indians: I get extremely pissed about everything. I mean everything. I yell at every customer service rep I speak to, but since they can’t understand a fucking word I’m saying, I guess they really aren’t listening. I resolve to quit this dumbass behavior to spare the poor customer service reps on the other line. No need to add English classes to the list, I still want to spare everyone from actually understanding what I’m saying.
Clueless & Elderly: I am old and senile. I shouldn’t leave the house, talk to people, or have some fancy ass TV service. I resolve not to exert myself beyond my comprehension, which means anything more complicated than opening a jug of prune juice. That includes calling my TV service provider and asking how to turn the god damn thing on (by pressing the fucking “on” button).
I may not know much, but I know enough to excel at my shit job. Yeah, I’m aware it’s not that fucking hard to succeed at Telescreen, thank you. I know how to hook up A/V shit and computers pretty well. I also know how to spot a fucking idiot.
Manjula called in to Telescreen because she couldn’t quite figure out how to hook her computer monitor up. She was yelling like a god damn lunatic because she couldn’t figure it out, and somehow, it was my fault. Don’t blame me because you’re stupid, Manjula. Blame your parents for dropping you on your head when you were a baby.
I explained once and she didn’t get it. I explained again and she still didn’t get it. We got up to five explanations and this crazy broad still couldn’t get this fucking thing figured out. Let me lay it down in layman’s terms: You plug the monitor in. Simple as that. No need to get pissed, just a need to get that extremely low IQ up.
We weren’t getting anywhere and I’d had the unfortunate pleasure of talking to Manjula for 45 minutes. She still couldn’t get through her thick skull that you take a cord and simply plug it in. Her pissed off yelling turned to pissed off screaming.
Customer: “Telescreen bad. You break computer. You think you can get away with this? All other computer work. This computer don’t work. You broke computer. You fix computer. You fix now!”
Then Manjula started screaming at me in some language I couldn’t understand. I think it was I Don’t Give A Fuck. English must have been a little too difficult. I got tired of listening, so I put her on mute. I then proceeded to shoot the shit with the guy next to me for a solid five minutes. Once we passed the five minute mark, she tired herself out and hung up. I’m sure she immediately called back to bitch someone else out. I just hope she wasn’t outsourced to India; they probably don’t want to be able to comprehend her Gypsy curses.
For three months at Telescreen, I had successfully avoided one terrible type of call. Yet I knew it was coming and that I would eventually meet my fate. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I experienced my first crier. We’re not talking about someone getting a bit choked up, we’re talking about tears running faster than fucking Niagara Falls. I would have felt bad, but the customer was an asshole. I never feel bad for assholes, that’s one of my golden rules.
Before Waterworks was crying, she was yelling, obviously. Bitching is a favorite pastime of my friendly customers. She was complaining about a cancellation fee. I hate to break it to you lady, but when you sign a contract, I can’t magically waive a cancellation fee. You probably shouldn’t have signed the contract in the first place, but unfortunately, I wasn’t there to tell you that Telescreen was a piece of shit company.
Customer: “You take my money, you are bad, bad man!”
Winston: “Ma’am, as I explained before, the cancellation fee is implemented when you break your contract.”
Customer: ”What do you mean? I sign nothing.”
I should have probably refrained from using words like “cancellation” and “implemented.” In the future, I’ll stick with simple words repeated over and over, such as, “Money, pay, now, dipshit.”
Customer: “Are you American?”
How many fucking times am I going to be asked that? Generally it’s from assholes who think camo is awesome and that dipshit Tim Tebow is a god.
Winston: “Yes I am American, how may I help you today?”
Customer: “I am tired of this terrible lack of service! I have been sent to India three times and they haven’t been any help!”
Cut them some fucking slack. It’s not their fault they’re getting paid three rupees a day to talk to idiots.
Customer: “Well I couldn’t understand them and they weren’t willing to help me at all!”