For the past couple of years I have been taking seasonal part-time jobs I say to get me writing, but I do like the extra money and it gives me an opportunity to come in contact with new and interesting characters.
This year’s punishment…a holiday credit call center. Yeah…I know. I told myself I never wanted to work in a call center again after the one I worked in when we first moved here. It was a room filled to the brim with fancy dressed idiots who had an over inflated view of their importance, intelligence and education. I was continually forced to make conversation with these random trolls. The good thing that came from that job was meeting Melanie. I like her and we sang together at the open mic down the street…but I digress.
So I guess I am back at this bs.
I found this job as an “all call” in the newspaper. It asked that folks “apply in person” As I sat in the waiting room I looked around. Am I in the right place? I thought. There was a big fat white lady with a rolling suitcase. A woman with skin tight jeans and slouch boots and a receptionist that definitely had Meth mouth.
I went to a room and filled out an application. I was called into another room by a super hyper Asian lady. She was talking so fast and moving so fast that she made me nervous. So nervous in fact, that I became disturbed. I told her that I had to come back the next day.
The next day the waiting room was just as crazy…two girls who I swear just got off the pole at one of the strip clubs down the street, had Ross price tags still on the bottom of their shoes and hair the color of various types of cotton candy sat waiting to be called back.
Wait…am I in the right place?
A lady that resembled a teapot (actually more of a tea vat) came to get me. She smelled faintly of poo and had toes like little smokies. She walked me up a flight of steps and I waited while she caught her breath. We walked into a huge room filled with cubicles. I was amazed at the amount of nonsense that filled these desks. Pictures and balls and candy and folded up magazines and decorations.
I was taken to sit with a girl who shared the same name as a previous manager that I had had. I bristled up, remembering the mood swings, utter stupidity and complete lack of managerial skills possessed by that former idiot.
I sat down and plugged in a headset. She was on a call. Exciting. She was using the “work voice” (that voice that idiots think makes them sound educated and sophisticated, but really they use vocabulary like an ex-con and have an annoying twang.) I looked around her desk and it was filled with pictures and crafts from her kids and awards for customer service and a cheap purse.She never really turned around to look at me, but from her profile I could see her fake lashes, caked on make-up and drawn on mole. As I stared at the back of her head it became clear to me that there actually are folks who purchase and use bump-its and here was one, live and in the flesh.
I was then interviewed by Olive Oil. When she saw my resume and what I do in real life, she tried to tell me about her experience. Ummm…sorry but not interested.
She offered me the job on the spot. Cool.
They require a drug test. I had never been required to take one of those before. Do people just get high and start granting retail credit? Is that an epidemic?
The drug testing place was across from the dump. I had to hold my breath just to walk to the door, and pee while some sumo wrestler type stood watch outside the door.
Ridiculous job interview…check
Humiliating drug test…check
Job I hate before I have even begun and fear of my future co-workers…check and check.
Credit Call Center, that shall remain nameless, here I come.