Up My Own Ass

I fucking hate call centers.

The reasons for this are numerous and multi-faceted. Specifically, I hate WORKING in call centers. Although I recently completed my sentence of telephonic servitude, my significant other jumped in front of that bullet to save my life. He is my hero.

I am going to try and paint a picture of how badly it sucks, but I don’t think the color palette of the English language reaches into that spectrum. Working in a call center will tear your soul out of your ass and spit its chewed remains back into your face – while you are on a call, no less. You are literally trapped in a cubicle, shackled to your Rockwell phone by a headset, forced to listen to the constant whining, bitching, and complaining of every Tom, Dick, and Vagina that falls into your queue. Everyone that calls is stupid. They all hate you. They all think you are a dimwitted phone rep who has personally committed fraud, theft, high treason, adultery, and bestiality – all because you won’t make an adjustment on their cable bill.

I mean, OBVIOUSLY they never watched “Black Up Her Booty” OR “Bi and Large,” even though the exact date and time of the order is recorded on their bill. They just aren’t those kind of people, and they are NOT going to pay for it, you asshole.

Seriously, having to call customer service brings out the absolute WORST in people. Callers have no manners. They swear at you like they know you. My poor fella has been called everything but a child of God, and that was JUST TODAY.

Perhaps as a survival mechanism, he has created his own personal Constitution, the first amendment of which reads, “If you piss me off, I will hang up on you.” Coincidentally, the rest of the amendments say exactly the same thing.

I think it’s funny that people actually presume to think that anyone gives a frog’s fat, wrinkled ass about their issue, or that the barrage of rapid-fire insults they are vomiting into the phone is going to get their problems solved any faster or better.

In fact, the truth is quite the contrary.

Remember all those times you called and asked for a supervisor? You were actually speaking to the person in the next cubicle, and everything they said to you was completely made up. Or, like, you know when you are showing that dumb phone rep whose boss by cursing a blue streak at them, and they promise to have a supervisor call you back? Yeah. Not happening. Or how about when you demand to know that phone rep’s name so that you can tell their supervisor how poorly they treated you…I will let you in on another little secret…that wasn’t really Ben Dover or Mike Hunt you were talking to.

Honestly, people, don’t be so fucking rude. That stupid phone rep is somebody’s mother or father, trying to make sure their kids have medical coverage and groceries in exchange for their immortal soul. There are never less than 500 calls in queue, they KNOW that you have been on the phone for the last 45 minutes, they can only take one call at a time, and – contrary to popular belief – they WANT to solve your issue so you will get off their damn phone. I won’t even MENTION the “stats and numbers” that these poor saps have to meet on a daily basis. It’s so unfair.

So, the next time you are sitting by your pool, sipping a cool drink while you wait on hold to scream at the unfortunate bastard that gets your call, just remember – the hand that can release the call is the hand that rules the world.

Thank you for calling Up My Own Ass enterprises, have a nice day.