Another Tom Waits reference. Horrible. Sad. Pathetic. But that's me for ya.
Today's a rainy, querolously crap day. Very English, apparently. I saw this crisp packet, saying you win 10 pounds for every day it's raining, and you're sitting inside, feeling sorry for yourself. Eating crisps. I actually did that today. They can't all be good ones, I suppose.
As someone who, in most areas of life, has been described as staggeringly incompetent, I'm not much fun to have on the phone if you're a customer service agent on a Saturday morning shift. Add to that me being a foreigner with a slightly overconvincing accent and you've got yourself a story for the water cooler.
In short; I tried to get to my online banking, but I was confused, so I had to call the helpdesk. The man tried to help me but I was too slow, too quick or just did something wrong. Now, I've worked in call centres. I know clients aren't the easiest people to work with. We aske questions, and we want to speak to the manager and we just don't care about you, the worker and your continued suffering. We're dicks!
Before I spoke to the man on the phone, I'd have to go through an electronic answering device-thing which asked question that you'd have to answer by either typing in numbers or saying them. At one point they asked me a question I didn't understand and then went: press one for yes, or two for no; or just say it. I didn't understand the question. Press one for yes, two for no, or say it. I don't know! I started shouting into the phone WHAT ARE YOU ASKING ME? WHAT YES? WHAT NO? I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN! Like my grandmother, who is of that generation that still says thank you to the answering machine.
I then got through to a young man, who greeted me with a sigh and a 'how can I help'. Understandable, as the most moronic members of the public can usually work this thing out by themselves. I did what he told me, peppering my high pitched questions with apologies and despairing outcries of: It doesn't work. In the end, after even confusing him for a quite a few minutes I did get online. He sighed, and hoped it would be alright in the end, sir. And if I needed any more help (subtext: Don't!) just call me again (Don't! Really don't! I never want to speak to you again.) I thanked him and got online. It was fine in the end.
Now, is this a satire of big business and the disinterest of customer service people or just another story of how appalling a person I am (bit of both, actually. But more of the first, actually. I should have used my rubbishy accent. But I didn't. I'm an honest to goodness-type person.
That's mainly because I went to Steiner School, where you learn to like everything. A lovely place that I, at the time, didn't quite go for and tried to be subversive about whenever I could. But it was really subversive, you know. No-one would have noticed my subversiveness. It was that subversive. But I did try and back out of my Steiner School-loveliness when I left there, a couple of years ago. As a means of excorcism, I burned puppies for two years, every other thursday. I told this to my flatmate and she looked at me, there was a -tick- and she said: Really?
Good. Might I use this platform now to declare that I like all puppies, and have never burned them in a bin. Against their will.
It's getting scary. Next time will come round quicker, I promise! (you do know me now, and you know how much my promises are worth). Buh-bye.