Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Notes from the Ground Zero at Corporate Hell (Part VI)

I’m not one who attempts to get in touch with my “Inner Flake” very often. I mean, I’m not going to complain if somebody wants to suddenly strip down naked and perform a ceremonial jig in the middle of the work aisle for all to enjoy…but I’m not about to get sized for any flowing white robes anytime soon either.

Having said that; I think that we should be incorporating more pagan rituals and practices at my current place of employment, where I dutifully serve as a ‘Customer Service Representative’, would prove extremely beneficial. By utilizing these primitive approaches to our routine workday, it would better create an equal playing field on which to deal with the average fucknuts that call in regularly each day.

People don’t want detailed logic or simplified explanations; they want easy quick-fix solutions, and they want them right fucking now, motherfucker! That’s all! They don't want to hear about additional programs that they can add to their account to assist them, they just want to be able to call in, lay down some fabricated sob story, maybe throw in one or two personal insults just for good measure, and then bitch and complain until the poor CSR on the other end of the line gracefully submits to their demands. Simple.

Neotlithic Caveman no doubt conducted his personal finances in much the same manner whenever he felt compelled to increase his line of credit to 4 rocks and a mammoth bone. Very little has changed since those primitive times...including the uni-brow I expect.

It’s already an unnerving situation for them to be in. No doubt, they’ve inevitably been waiting “on hold for a Customer Service Representative” for over an hour listening to some deep mournful classical muzac rendition of ‘Peter and the Wolf’…so they’re bound to be just a wee bit testy by the time we answer the phone. After all, how much droning bassoons and oboes can one take before you’re subconsciously driven to mass murder? It’s no fucking wonder our work environment is so stressful. I’d be packing heat too if I had to fuckin’ listen to such an intense soundtrack before conducting important personal business!

As a result, I think that the common blue-collar monkfish that end up inevitably calling in to blindly request credit limit increases and lowered APR’s are more capable of understanding primitive pagan solutions than they would be of any detailed high-brow synopsis on their erroneous spending habits. Attempting to provide logical explanations to most people would automatically be interpreted as insulting and discriminating, even though the poor simpleton on the other end of the phone probably doesn’t have the equivalent mental capacity to even calculate the %10 gratuities on their final bill at Denny’s.

They would simply rather hear:

“Sir, what I recommend to protect yourself from further Past Due fees on your account is to bury a radish in your backyard by the light of a full moon while chanting the lyrics to Tori Amos’s ‘Cornflake Girl’ backwards.”

Heavens-fucking-forbid you should ever offer to provide the proper time frames for particular payment methods so that they can ensure no continuing delinquency or negative activity on their meager accounts! Shit, who has the time or energy to participate in a mature conversation involving detailed personal finances, much less to actually take any responsibility for their own fucking actions?

How do you handle someone who probably doesn’t commit to making any major life decisions without first consulting ‘Jojo’s Psychic Hotline’?

They don’t need skilled ‘Customer Care Representatives’; they need a cult of specialized Wiccan financiers to help “master their own destinies” by consulting the soggy tea leaves in the bottom of their cup of oolong and getting approval to waive finace fees from their spirit guide, before redirecting their deadbeat asses back to the Mother Ship!


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