Call Centres, Don't you just love to hate them, the faceless voice on the other end of the line, that automaton of modern industry you can vent all your frustration at and abuse until your hearts content.
You're sure they don't mind, if they did they could just hang up! You would!
They couldn't loose their job over it surely?!?
Besides, its not like they aren't paid well enough to take one frustrated customer, if there was more than one complaint, surely they would be doing something about it RIGHT NOW?!?
they aren't really a person on the other end! Not really.
They couldn't be, working at a call centre.
they don't have feelings, or loved ones, or physical/mental health concerns!
and their management cares more about them then you! Or you would be getting what you demand!
they are just machines trying to prevent you from getting the service you deserve, damned the rules or T's and C's, or even the current issue affecting the company they have just spent 5 min explaining to you.
It's a major inconvenience to be talking to a lowly plebe like them.
Inspired by every caller that decides a call centre employee is a a verbal punching bag. To whom we would love dearly to give a piece of our mind to and hang up. But unfortunately, most cant afford to, because that's a terminating offence, and we have bills and, kids and partners to support.
And besides, if we did, you would get some sort of bonus or whatever for being a @$$#013. -- Adam in Darwin
[AN: True Facts - I almost got a job in a call centre. They were going to call me back when a slot opened up but the whole thing moved to somewhere in India before the window of opportunity happened for this nerd. The only time they called me was to try and sell me car lawsuits among other scams. Check out that related story this Thursday]
"So here's the brief. Stay on call for as long as possible, as you get paid by the minute. Put them on hold if they start to swear, but otherwise stick to the script. Hold doesn't count into your time. Churn here is high and management docks you if you take more than the scheduled bathroom breaks."
Lori was sure that was unrelated, but in this economy, she had to take whatever job was going. Leave only if you're fired because you're too expensive for the health department and of course they didn't cover dental. She'd had jobs like this before and used her first bathroom break to change her underwear for an adult diaper. Go-gurts and mountain dew were sustenance standbys as management only gave employees twenty minutes to eat. For those twenty minutes, there were nutritious sandwiches that she brought with her in a cold bag because like hell would anyone trust the break room fridge.
There was a clock on the computer screen with the local time in the area she was going to connect to and a script checklist. There was also a checklist of numbers for her to mark as liable or un-liable based entirely on whether they picked up and whether they put up with the script and for how long.
Three hang-ups before the end of the robo-message ended and she ticked those off as 'answers'. The next one sounded like a little old lady. "Good morning, ma'am, I'm speaking to you today in regards to your car accident."
"But I don't have a car."
"Sorry to inconvenience you today. Thank you for your time." Lori marked it as 'answering' but not viable for this call centre. The number would be passed on to another virtual phisherman.
Another call. A man, from the sound of things. "Good morning, sir, I'm speaking to you today in regards to your car accident."
"You are, are you?"
"Yes sir. I'm pleased to tell you that you may be entitled to compensation. Now, for verification purposes, I need to know the make and model of the car, and the license number."
"Why don't you tell me," he said, "Lori Sanderson. At fifty-two Larch Lane, Maze Estates, Pensyltucky."
She fought terror. He wasn't supposed to know any of that. "You have the wrong person, sir, my name is Jolene." He'd been marked as 'answering' and viable based on the length of time he spent on any call. She flagged for a supervisor and hit record. "It's also my duty to inform you that this call is being recorded for customer satisfaction."
"And it's my duty to inform you that you look mighty fine in a bikini. You should do more glamour shots for Facebook. I might pay you a visit one day. Or one night."
She dialed up the information available to the public, as well as information that had been phished previously. "I see on our data that you were involved in a driver-only accident in a parking lot two years ago. A blue Toyota Camry registration B-I-G-P-3-3-N?" Oh god, this guy was a one hundred percent creep.
"I can send you a photograph of it," he said. "Would you like to see my big peen?"
"Only if it's photographic evidence of the accident, sir. Our lawyers are willing to talk to you about the process of suing the parking lot for inappropriate bollard placement."
"I wanna talk to you. Use a sexy voice." He was starting to breathe hard. "I really like your bikini photos."
Lori maintained her normal business voice. "In order to process the compensation, I'll need to know the details of the bank account into which you would like to receive the payment."
"So mail me a cheque."
"I'm sorry sir, we only operate via electronic funds transfer systems. I will need your account and branch number for payment purposes."
"I can give you my credit card if you promise to buy a smaller bikini and give me a photo," he panted.
Not on your life, thought Lori. Fortunately, she had hit the limit of her script and could pass him along to a higher strata of phishermen. "I can put you in contact with our accounting department, and they will assist you with all their details."
Well. That was over. And no sign of the supervisor.
Her handset rang - which should not happen. She picked up. "Hello. Would you like to make a claim in regards to your car accident?"
It was him again. "I want to make a claim on your ass."
Lori re-flagged her supervisor. "Sir, that is not an option in this agency. If you would like to talk to me about your car accident, I can arrange compensation."
"I wanna smash your puss--"
"Please hold," she slammed the hold button and gophered up over the labyrinth of cubicles. No supervisor in sight. She re-flagged, and got off hold.
"Please tell me about the circumstances of your crash, sir."
"Stop calling for Daddy, you little bitch," he snarled, "I've disabled that system. You belong to me now. Also that recording you have is nothing but static. Tell me about your holes. How soft is your c--"
She slammed him on hold again. Checked playback of the recording and... yes. It was ear-splitting noise.
There was no way to report abuse. No way to flag the number as belonging to a thorough-going skeevy pervert. No way to reassure her safety.
He knew where she lived. He knew her name. He was probably touching himself with her innocent beach photos on his screen. But wait. She also knew where he lived... and could contact authorities in regards to what he was doing.
Lori took a deep breath and brought up his details, then bought him off hold. "Your address is twenty-five Alabaster Avenue, Sweet Rise, is that correct, sir?" She looked up his Facebook just to be sure. Yup. Total skeev. Loads of upskirt and downblouse shots. Lots of non-consensual pervert photos. Lots of victim blaming. Lots of stalker photos of his "girlfriends".
She reported him as a sex offender and gave links to his Facebook as evidence.
"Whoops," he said, "Nice try. I've already hacked into your work computer. You can't get me through there. And if you pick up your phone, you're fired."
Well, shit. She didn't want this job anyway.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / mflippo]
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