In honor of the birthday boy’s big day on the 25th, I thought I’d drop a fun little story about the importance of Sunday, the sabbath. Take note, don’t miss church, ever.
A woman called in because a technician didn’t make it out to her house that day and it had to be rescheduled. Something had fucked up in the scheduling system and by the time I talked to her there were no techs available. Sure it’s frustrating waiting for someone to come to your house and then not having them show up, I get that.
What I didn’t get is why this broad had to call ten times before she got to me and ignored everyone telling her they couldn’t get a tech out. If they could get someone out, they would, but man, she just didn’t like hearing the word “no.”
She spent most of the time threatening legal action against both Telescreen and myself because she was “a paralegal.” Oh shit, watch out everybody.
Customer: “I ain’t missing work no more, you hear me? Remember, I said I was a damn paralegal!”
Winston: “Well I can get someone to come out this Sunday so you don’t miss work again. If you’d like, I can also call the local office to make sure you’re first on the list.”
Customer: “Ah Hell nah! Don’t you know what day that is? I go to church on Sunday!”
When I’m on the phone with people, I’d say a solid fourth of the time I have to listen to babies crying or kids fucking screaming. Usually into the phone. Loudly. Constantly.
Now I don’t have any kids, but if I did, I’d probably try to tell them to shut the fuck up. Well, I’d try to explain to them that they shouldn’t scream like raving fucking lunatics while I’m on the phone fixing the goddamn Internet.
As for babies, I’d wouldn’t try to reason with them, because they’re babies. They can’t fucking talk. They just shit and sleep, so there’s no hope of reasoning there.
Yet some customers would argue otherwise. I was going over a customer’s bill and had to keep raising my voice to be heard over the screaming baby right by the receiver of her phone.
Customer: “Hold on sir. EXCUSE ME! Now what were you saying?”
The baby continued to cry because it didn’t quite understand what the fuck she was saying. I started talking again.
Customer: “Hold on, hold on. Um, excuse me! Are you serious right now? Can’t you see I’m on the damn phone?”
When Telescreen customers don’t pay their bills, Telescreen turns off their service. When customers think TV is too fucking important, they have a shit fit when they can’t watch something worthless like “Dancing With The Stars.” When they can’t watch worthless programming, they call customer service to bitch and complain. When customer service tells them they should pay their fucking bill, they lose their shit and end up talking to Super Department. When customers get to Super Department, they try to give bullshit excuses as to why they didn’t pay their bill in hopes of getting their service turned for free. When I get a bullshit excuse, I laugh and then post about it unbeknownst to the customer on this blog.
Customer: “Man, you gotta get my service back on, I ain’t going nowhere ’til you do.”
Winston: “I’m sorry sir, but the service was shutoff due to nonpayment. I can’t restore services until the $46.77 is collected. I’m happy to take that payment for you over the phone.”
Then there was a long pause followed by a deep sigh.
Customer: “Listen man, I had some stuff happen to me, aight? I got shot. You hear that man, I got shot!”
We deal with a lot of sketchy sales agents over in Super Department. We have to help them build accounts when they get caught manipulating the system (which happens on a minute-by-minute basis). We then have to build accounts for them because they fucked with the system. As much as I think they’re pieces of shit, I happily build accounts for them because it beats talking to that trailer trash redneck yelling into the phone with a lisp because he’s missing teeth, but that I still can’t hear because of his fucking crying kids, barking dogs, and asshole friend revving an ATV engine in the background. That’s just one example of a fine Telescreen customer.
Day in and day out, my colleagues and I have to deal with the sketchiest mother fuckers around in the sales department, lying and cheating their way to getting any type of commission. No one at Telescreen seems to care since the management appointed everyone in Super Department to help make sure sales go through. So after years of all that daily lying bullshit, I really appreciate an honest sales agent. I like a man who’s not afraid to lie, and willing to simply speak the truth.
Winston: “So they already have an account?”
Agent: “Sounds like it. Say goodbye to my sale.”
Winston: “Well have you accessed their account and told them what we need to do to get the account moved?”
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 […]
Hot dog! We have our first Your Post addition here at ESP. Please take a minute to review the video, then we’ll break it down to see if it qualifies as extremely stupid:
Where do I begin? Sweet Jesus. First of all, has anyone told this broad that Kool-Aid rots your teeth? Apparently not. Since when is Kool-Aid a substitute for air conditioning? If my power came on, I’d flip on the AC, put on a kilt, and stand above a vent. That’s how to party on a hot day. Now if I were economically challenged, I would at least have a fan to turn on. You can get them for 99 cents at Goodwill. Yes, I love Goodwill, it’s like the Porche of thrift stores. Oddly, Lamasa doesn’t see the necessity of a fan and instead prefers to cool off with an ice cold jug of Kool-Aid.
Now let’s talk about the reporter. He’s obviously from a rich suburb in Northern Chicago and this his first venture into the Southeast side of Detroit. He’s immediately having second thoughts about moving to Detroit to take that new job as a reporter. He knows he’s out of place, and that’s why he’s the one the yells “Hallelujah!” He wants to fit in, and thinks the only way to do that is pretend he’s in the choir at the Gospel church down the road.
Hot dog, look at that thang! We’re not sure what that thang is, but we do know Lamasa is going to sleep like a baby. No A/C, no fan, no Ambien, just Kool-Aid. Judging by her fine residence, I think the Kool-Aid guy already busted through the walls a time or two yelling, “Oh yeah!” Maybe that’s why the power was out in the first place.
When I’m on the phone, I like to keep my conversations private. It’s not like I’m always talking about some confidential shit, I just don’t want some stranger listening to every detail of my life. Unfortunately, stupid people don’t feel the same way, as I know far too much about these assholes and their daily adventures in stupidity.
I’m troubleshooting with a customer, trying to fix some shit on her computer. We’re waiting and waiting for multiple prompts to download. This is old Winston’s favorite type of call, because it involves lots of time to just sit around and wait. This means more watching TV, playing iPhone Scrabble, or staring at the clock and seeing if it could possibly move any fucking slower. I have to hang out on the phone while each step downloads, and all the while, this lady is carrying on a very intense conversation with her man.