Life So Far - Blogabond

I'm ill and not "Where's All My Money Gone, Why Do I Smell Of Kebabs And What's This Traffic Cone Doing In My Bed" kind of ill.
More of a "Sat In The Office Coughing Into The Air Conditioning Whilst Wishing I Wasn't A Temp So I Could Take Full Advantage Of The Company Sick Pay Scheme" kind of ill which of course is infinitely worse but at least I'm legally allowed to bitch about it without smug looks from people eating fry ups. I've been nothing but ill since I got to Auckland.

And yes I said office, I'm a Call Centre Monkey again and no, I have no idea how this happened but my sanity already started packing last week and is threatening to move out permanently.

I do not like customers. I do not wish to service them. It doesn't help that customers take Stupid Lessons and are under the impression that their phone call is the most important thing to happen to me that day.

I wanted to work in a factory, I called the agency and told them I wanted to make the same thing over and over again for 8 hours a day because that's the kind of ambitious go-getter I am. Apparently they had nothing like that but they practically creamed themselves when they saw I'd spent two years taking verbal abuse off the good people of the UK because the inept depots once again failed to deliver their water on time and this was somehow my fucking fault. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Oh no.

twitches a bit*

I also spend 2 hours a day at the backpackers vacuuming, mopping and hoping to god that the wet patch I just put my hand in on a mattress was where someones hot water bottle leaked and isn't in fact piss and I spend Friday and Saturday nights getting a room full of queers drunk up at Family Bar although I'm not sure any of this will counteract the fattening effects of working in an office with a vending machine full of cookies and a Subway across the car park so basically I'm doomed, at least my waistline is anyway. And my pocket, I need three jobs just so I can afford the vast quantities of chocolate required to survive working in customer service and the vodka required to overcome the trauma of dealing with people who I'm surprised have the mental capacity to operate a telephone, let alone use it to call me and make my day miserable.

Anyway, if you'll excuse me I'm off to drink some tea and take calls from people who are under the grave misconception that I give a flying fuck.

written by

Koala Bear on August 25, 2008 from Auckland, New Zealand

from the travel blog: Tiny Little NZ Road Trip

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