So, things have been happening really all over. There's things happening in the world and at home, and even in the United States, which is definitely not my home and I'm starting to suspect isn't even in the world. Where to begin?
Well I'm in a rather foul mood at the moment as a direct result of something that happened to one of my colleagues at work today. Whether this interests anybody reading this blog or not isn't really my concern, I'm so fucking stewed over this that I've had to consume like a quart of whisky just to get myself into a state where I'm not throwing my TV into orbit. The preamble to all this is that I work as your average, common or garden lesser-spotted bitch at a call centre in Newcastle, whose name will be replaced with words that amuse me to heighten the suspense.
What we might call the opening scene to our tale is a delightful, pretty and intelligent young girl whom we will call Arwen for no good reason, sat next to me and heroically throwing herself into the line of fire of whatever twisted arsehole decides to demand why we suck so much. She takes a call from a particularly poisonous specimen whom I have decided to label Scumbag, a lady who essentially wants to know where her money is. As Arwen patiently describes the situation and what exactly must be done to solve it, Scumbag becomes irate, and begins to give Arwen the phone call equivalent of a flaming dog turd on her doorstep. There is a back and forth, which culminates in Scumbag telling Arwen that she must be, and I quote, "fucking thick" to be working for a company like [Chinchilla]. Arwen takes exception to this, but soldiers on like any good daughter of Elrond would, which only serves to inflame this hateful fucking witch even further. More insults along the line of "you're thick", "you must be fucking thick", and "you're really fucking thick" emerge, and Arwen eventually concedes defeat, terminating the call.
Now on its own this is not particularly unusual for a bright young thing working as a Customer Service Victim for a company like [Bossa Nova]. What really boils my piss about the whole thing are the following three things, which I will list in a stupid way for no good reason.
Thing The First: this bastion of intelligence decided to waste her own money and time calling a company with what appears to be the express purpose of contradicting and insulting whatever poor bastard gets caught on the other end. That's just a dick move, and deserves a sound shoeing.
The Second Thing: Arwen, despite being well within her rights to track this woman down and administer a painful beating with a big spanner, let alone disconnecting the call, may well be getting a stern talking to from the upper echelons of [Douchebag Incorporated] for daring to shut off this spiteful bitch's screed. Which is utterly ludicrous.
Thing The Three: purely for the lulz, Arwen and myself went back and had a look at what if anything went down with this person's account a little while later. And the fucking shrew did exactly what she was told to. Which means that not only did she verbally abuse my colleague for no reason other than to make her feel better, but she did it while carefully noting down all the excellent advice she was being given, knowing all the while that the person she was berating was absolutely right and was working hard to help her.
Scumbag, if I ever find you, you shall know my wrath. You'll know it because it is on fire, and lodged deep in your anatomy. And it will be my car.
So hacked off over this that my musings on other stuff going in the world right now will have to wait until I have calmed down with some judicious violence.
