I always wondered what the Internet looked like in real life.
There are plenty of mysteries in the world. Stonehenge. Atlantis. Nascar. One thing that doesn’t need a fucking investigation is the quick fix of a Telescreen router.
An angry old asshole called in and got super pissed because he couldn’t understand technology. Yes, this is a daily occurrence. I mean, the guy got confused about absolutely fucking everything. I was surprised he could carry on a conversation at that matter. Well, by conversation, I mean him just complaining about the “damned Interweb.”
He couldn’t figure out why his “Interweb” suddenly “vanished.” Why? Because he’s a fucking moron. The mystery of the vanishing Interweb solved in four seconds.
After talking to him for a whole 20 seconds, I could immediately tell he was fucking stupid, caused this whole fucking problem, and that he was really just an asshole. Don’t blame me because you’re stupid, gramps.
Winston: “Okay sir, we need to reset the router. What you’ll do is unplug the power from the box…”
Customer: “Wait, what? You mean this damned Interweb machine?”
Winston: “Correct, you’ll need to pull the power from…”
Customer: “Damnit, slow down! What do I pull?”
“Hold on, I’m just reading our monthly email usage.”
Wow, it’s been almost a year since we’ve ridiculed ESP email addresses. I dare say this is long overdue. You know the old saying: Give an ESP an email account and they won’t know how to use it. Teach an ESP how to create an email account and they’ll make it something really fucking stupid.
firstname.lastname@example.org: What in the fuck is the point of this? Why would anyone in their right mind have the word “poo” in an email address? On second thought, why is “poo” in there twice? Sometimes I can’t even begin to rationalize the stupidity I encounter.
email@example.com: Well I think congratulations are in order. No, what am I thinking, this must be the email of a framing business, right? A nail manufacturing plant? Either way, I’m sorry Mr. Well Hung, but you didn’t get the job. Something about that email address really didn’t say “team player” or “problem solver.”
firstname.lastname@example.org: What the fuck does that even mean?
email@example.com: Everyone was wondering who Mike Wagner’s mom was. They especially wanted to know when an email came in. So Mike’s mom created an email account accordingly. Let us be clear that her name heeds no importance whatsoever. We just need to know that she’s Mike Wagner’s mom.
firstname.lastname@example.org: No way I’m answering an email from the Grim Reaper, even if that asshole can’t figure out how to turn on the TV.
Even the pumpkins party too hard on Halloween.
Well gentle reader, it’s Halloween, the day we like to spend scaring the shit out of ourselves. That and eating candy, walking around looking like dumbasses, and getting really drunk. It’s a really great holiday.
Anyway, I thought what better way to enjoy this spooky day than to share some scary Halloween stories. What’s more frightening than an extremely stupid person? Not much, but lets see what we’ve got:
Customer: “I turned off the lights so they won’t find me.”
Fellow Agent: “Who?”
Customer: “The aliens. They’s after me. I be talking to you in a closet. Is this line secure?”
Assessment: Though I got this from a fellow agent, I can vouch that we don’t make this shit up. I know it sounds fake, but review every previous post and you’ll understand that people really are this fucking stupid. And aliens do go after illiterate Rednecks. SCARY.
One of my pet peeves in life is people with egos. Now this is a pet peeve in real life, beyond the confines of Hell on Earth (aka the Telescreen call center). Now these egotistical people like to flaunt their “status” in order to feel better about themselves. They need to put other people down to prove they’re “better” than them. This of course includes call center employees. Sure they may be more successful, make more money, and definitely have a better job than me, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t fucking stupid.
Winston: “Sir, I’m looking right here at your bill. All of the charges have been added up correctly. I even double checked with a calculator while I had you on hold, and everything adds up to $113.”
Customer: “No, you’re wrong. Your system is wrong. Hell, your calculator is wrong.”
Winston: “I can go through each charge again if you want, feel free to add them with me.”
I figured I’d teach him how to use a calculator and avoid this issue in the future.
Customer: “No, I don’t need you to teach me how to add, pal. Do you know who I am?”
Oh shit, not this spiel again.
A history lesson while I buy a Slim Jim? Score.
Well hot damn gentle reader, we did it. We hit the century mark! 100 stories of stupidity. If you’ve been with me from the beginning, you know the impossible is possible. A normal person may believe in the intelligence of the human race. Yet we have 100 examples that there are some real fucking morons out there. Really dumb people. I’m talking about extremely stupid people here.
Now I’m not trying to be defeatist by any means, because quite a bit of good can come from 100 stories of stupid. Had a shitty day at work? Feel better by laughing at those with lesser intelligence. Did something dumb today? Boost your self-esteem by realizing you aren’t a dirty Redneck that can’t count past 2 (the number of Busch Lights ordered in a round at the bar).
I’ve got plenty more than a hundred stories, believe me. It seems like I can’t stay ahead of them. Everyday I go to the call center, really not wanting anyone to be so fucking ridiculous, but I’ll be damned, they just keep on coming. Endless stupidity.
So while we’re talking about numbers, allow me to enlighten you with a story about a man that got really fucking pissed over a really fucking small number.
Winston: “What do you mean you’ve been charged? Your service hasn’t even been setup yet.”
Customer: “I have my bank statement right here and I see a charge. I can send it to you, because I’m not blind!”
You really have to appreciate an honest person these days.
The chances I believe a sob story from some Angry Asshole or any other ESP is about 5%. When I first started at Telescreen, I was young, naive, and ready to solve problems. You just lost your house? Of course I’ll cancel your account. You paid your bill even though we don’t show it was received? No problem, I’ll credit everything myself.
Then what happened was I wised up. Management was on my ass for breaking protocol. The customers were saying things that just didn’t add up. They didn’t want a solution, they just wanted to tell a dumb fucking story to get their way. So I realized I was going to call a bullshitter a bullshitter and wouldn’t believe a damn thing. That whole process happened in about an hour by the way.
Since I know 95% of the ESP customers are lying about something, I really enjoy calling them out on their lies. They claim they made a payment, so we call their bank and confirm they didn’t. They claim they sent back their receiver box, but we track it on the postal service website and see it hasn’t been sent. It’s a nice way of calling “bullshit” without actually saying “bullshit,” which is frowned upon in a call center.
One customer wasn’t just a bullshitter, she was a liar. Like a pathological liar. I don’t think she could’ve told the fucking truth if she tried. So I had no choice but to call “bullshit” every five fucking seconds. I’d say it was great to be right, but when dealing with an ESP, you’re always right. Unfortunately, the more wrong they are, the more pissed off they get.
Words alone can’t even begin to explain what’s wrong with this man.
Because Telescreen caters to the “rural” individuals, the channels they provide are Redneck by nature. You can’t miss shows featuring country music, truck driving, Conservative politics, fishing, guns, Nascar, and all that other worthless stupid shit Rednecks love. Side-note: Why in fucks name do they love Nascar? I mean, it’s just a bunch of assholes driving in circles. What the fuck?
Anyway, Telescreen released a new package called “The Heart of America” package for those individuals in the American Heartland or some shit like that. Translation: all of your Redneck channels in one convenient location. It has the fishing channel, the stupid fucking car racing channel, the shitty country music channel, I mean, all the dumb shit. Because Rednecks are so poor, they made it available for the low price of $5 per month. You would think this would be Redneck’s dream, but no no, they still can’t quite handle it.
Winston: “If you’re wanting the fishing channel, I’d recommend The Heart of America package. It has tons of great stuff.”
You can see my salesman skills at work. By “great stuff” I mean stupid pointless shit that Rednecks love, like Glenn Beck.
Customer: “Now what else is gonna come with this ‘Merica package?”
“I don’t care if you have a credit card, I’m not selling you 100 pounds of dog food.”
I’ve noticed that I help ESP customers with more than just their TV service. I mean, I help them with life in general. ESP’s need a little more assistance with pretty much everything. Like walking ten feet, eating a bowl of Wheaties, or simply using a credit card.
Winston: “I’m sorry sir, but the credit card is still saying ‘declined’ in our system.”
Customer: “Well Hell, it’s brand spankin’ new, I have no idea why it won’t work.”
Winston: “Have you used it yet?”
Customer: “Well, no. I told ya, it’s brand new.”
Winston: “That might be the problem.”
Customer: “What, do I have to do something with a new card?”
Winston: “Yes, you have to activate it.”
Customer: “Activate it? I have to activate a credit card? How in Hell’s name do I do that?”
I won’t go into detail on how to activate a card, gentle reader. I know you’re intelligent and can figure out that the giant sticker on the card saying “Call to Activate” isn’t there for decoration.
Even Beetlejuice needs a lunch break.
Stupid People Say The Dumbest Fucking Things:
Winston: “When did you try to cancel before?”
Customer: “Well I tried a few days ago.”
Winston: “That’s odd, I don’t see any notes on the account. Did you talk to an agent?”
Customer: “No, I ain’t talk to no one.”
Winston: “What do you mean?”
Customer: “Ain’t no one answer the phone.”
Customer: “I tried to call and cancel, but I couldn’t get a hold of anyone. Ain’t no one answer that damn phone of yours.”
Winston: “Um, I’m not sure that’s possible.”
Somehow going to the library didn’t seem so lame.
If the supervisors at Telescreen weren’t such a bunch of fucking Nazis, we would probably be allowed to listen to some tunes while rotting away in our evil cubicles of doom. Sadly, they insist that all of our cell phones be put away, and of course we can’t access Pandora or anything on our ancient shithole computers. Instead, we are stuck listening to the sweet sounds of toothless Rednecks trying to count beyond ten. For the record, they generally can’t.
Agents from other sales affiliates aren’t prone to the same strict protocol, since they don’t work in a fucking sweatshop like us Telescreen employees. Occasionally we can hear music in the background when they call in. One agent in particular was not so discreet with her music choices or the volume.
Winston: “Thanks for calling Super Department, this is Winston, how may I help you?”
I immediately hear music blasting in the background.
Agent: “Hey Winston, can you help me build an account? I’m getting an error with the credit card.”
Winston: “Not a problem, let me bring up the account here, one second…”
As I was bringing the account up on my screen and no one was talking, I finally caught what song she was listening to.
Music: “Fat bottom girls, you make the rocking world go round…”