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.”
Winston: “Ma’am, I see right here in our system that you signed a contract with us, and in canceling your service within the contract term, we have charged a cancellation fee of $200.”
Customer: “You take my money, give me my money back!”
This continued for a solid ten minutes, I shit you not. I love to waive fees; it makes the angry retards on the other line hang up. Cancellation fees are one of those things I am absolutely not allowed to waive. For some reason, people thing they never have to pay the cancellation fees. Then don’t fucking sign a contract with our shitty company in the first place, go with the superior competitors, that’s what I do.
Customer: “I have no money. I am broke. I can’t buy food. I can’t live. I’m going to die and you don’t care.”
Winston: “Ma’am, I am very sorry but there is no way I can waive this fee.”
Customer: “Don’t you apologize, that won’t help nothing. You don’t apologize to me. You give me money back!”
Winston: “Ma’am, there is nothing I can do at this time.”
Customer: “I am old lady and I will die. I have nothing. I am going to die now, why, why?”
Then the floodgates opened and I heard a cross between a banshee and a hyena on the other end. Holy shit. I put her on hold just because I couldn’t stand the sound anymore. I went to my boss, and asked what I could do. I may be an asshole, but I’m not a piece of shit. I don’t want Waterworks to die on me.
Boss: “People cry all the time, get used to it man. Tell her to go fuck herself and dry her tears on the way.”
Yes, my boss is fucking hilarious, but not much help. I get back on the line and the banshee has been reduced to sniffling.
Winston: “I spoke with a supervisor ma’am, and again I apologize, but I will not be able to waive that fee.”
Her sadness turned right back to anger, and she began blaming me for all her problems in the form of a list. I wondered if she had made a PowerPoint before calling in.
Customer: “I am old lady. I am going to die. You have no heart. You don’t care. You are bad man. You have money. You are rich. I have nothing. I am going to die.”
First of all, if I was rich, I would be anywhere in the world other than the shithole known as Telescreen. Second of all, it doesn’t matter if I have a heart or not, because I don’t make the rules like the heartless pieces of shit that run the company. Third of all, how the fuck is losing some money going to kill you? If that were the case, I wouldn’t have made it out of Vegas alive. Fucking Riviera. I’m never playing Craps again.
Customer: “You take advantage of me because my English is bad. People always take advantage of me. You steal money from me. You go into account and take my money. Give it back. Give me money back!”
Ouch, now she’s pulling the race card. No lady, your English is superb compared to Cletus in the doublewide. Those fuckers don’t know how to speak for shit.
Customer: “You give me money, give me, give me!”
This again continued again for some time, with Waterworks and I getting absolutely nowhere. I then pulled the signature Winston move of not talking. Customers usually rant and rave until the tire themselves out, and when they see I won’t argue back, they hang up. I think the last thing she said was, “You are terrible man, how you live with yourself?” That’s a good question, because a part of my soul dies each day as I walk through the front door of Telescreen. At least I have dipshits like Waterworks to entertain me though.