Confessions of a Fuck Up Artist
May. 31st, 2006 10:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI can admit it now: I allowed them to get to me.
Their vicious bullshit hissed out of the phone and crawled into the ear, slithered down and squirmed around the brain, choking it with raw hate and stupidity. The blood soaked my bones with wrath, snap them and you could have licked poison off the marrow!
This was it! Eight hours a day, five days a week I showed up for my dress rehearsal for an inevitable Hell. Eight hours a day, five days a week I was just another verbal punching bag for random armies made up of the professionally unemployed, malice drunk housewives and the gleefully insane. Eight hours a day, five days a week I was a schmuck! A shnook! A Telemarketer!
I made two mistakes. First off I didn't get angry quick enough. Had I gotten angry quick, it would have passed quick. A wank in the Mens Room and a cigarette afterwords and I would have been fine. Instead I let it build up. I wasn't making my numbers. I was getting desperate and I just sat there, held it back, and let it build up until each word out of their mouths was no longer a word, but rather the buzzing of a fly. A detetable little insect who deserved nothing more out of my attention than a quick slap of death.
My second mistake was I got cocky.
Combine those two and whether you realize it or not you've just flipped the clock on your luck. The sands drain quickly, like water, into a drowning mans lungs.
The phone rings. A fumble of the receiver. A trepidatious hello.
"Hello Mrs._______?"
"Ummm...yes?"
"Hi, I'm Jack Brassballs with the Community Readers Service here in..."
"What did you say your name was again?"
"Jack...Jack Brassballs, ma'am and i'm here today to talk to you about a super deal on all your favorite magazines like Ladies Home Journal, Better Homes ..."
"You'd have to talk to my husband about..."
"Your husband is already a subscriber!"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"Just allow me to pull up his account" I tap the keys nonsensically a few times for show "...ah here we go, Mr.____: We have him down for Hustler, Big Jim Weekly, Barely Legal and oh yes, Popular Mechanics..."
There is the most delightful silence between us right now. It's all marinating in her head now and she knows it's not true but the lie points to an image that disturbs her on levels she's not comfortable with. Finally she breaks the spell.
"I want to talk to your manager now! Mr..."
"Brassballs, ma'am. You can say it. Your husband certainly did last night..."
She hangs up. I smile. I erase the client from the data base. She'll never get a call from us again. I look up and I realize I have six more hours here at the office.
It's gonna be a fun day.
Their vicious bullshit hissed out of the phone and crawled into the ear, slithered down and squirmed around the brain, choking it with raw hate and stupidity. The blood soaked my bones with wrath, snap them and you could have licked poison off the marrow!
This was it! Eight hours a day, five days a week I showed up for my dress rehearsal for an inevitable Hell. Eight hours a day, five days a week I was just another verbal punching bag for random armies made up of the professionally unemployed, malice drunk housewives and the gleefully insane. Eight hours a day, five days a week I was a schmuck! A shnook! A Telemarketer!
I made two mistakes. First off I didn't get angry quick enough. Had I gotten angry quick, it would have passed quick. A wank in the Mens Room and a cigarette afterwords and I would have been fine. Instead I let it build up. I wasn't making my numbers. I was getting desperate and I just sat there, held it back, and let it build up until each word out of their mouths was no longer a word, but rather the buzzing of a fly. A detetable little insect who deserved nothing more out of my attention than a quick slap of death.
My second mistake was I got cocky.
Combine those two and whether you realize it or not you've just flipped the clock on your luck. The sands drain quickly, like water, into a drowning mans lungs.
The phone rings. A fumble of the receiver. A trepidatious hello.
"Hello Mrs._______?"
"Ummm...yes?"
"Hi, I'm Jack Brassballs with the Community Readers Service here in..."
"What did you say your name was again?"
"Jack...Jack Brassballs, ma'am and i'm here today to talk to you about a super deal on all your favorite magazines like Ladies Home Journal, Better Homes ..."
"You'd have to talk to my husband about..."
"Your husband is already a subscriber!"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"Just allow me to pull up his account" I tap the keys nonsensically a few times for show "...ah here we go, Mr.____: We have him down for Hustler, Big Jim Weekly, Barely Legal and oh yes, Popular Mechanics..."
There is the most delightful silence between us right now. It's all marinating in her head now and she knows it's not true but the lie points to an image that disturbs her on levels she's not comfortable with. Finally she breaks the spell.
"I want to talk to your manager now! Mr..."
"Brassballs, ma'am. You can say it. Your husband certainly did last night..."
She hangs up. I smile. I erase the client from the data base. She'll never get a call from us again. I look up and I realize I have six more hours here at the office.
It's gonna be a fun day.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2006-05-31 03:55 pm (UTC)Just hope you can get through the rest of the day without imploding or getting yourself killed.
Though if you do get killed and hang around all incorporeal-like, swing over here and keep me company.
no subject
on 2006-05-31 04:37 pm (UTC)Hope your feeling better.
no subject
on 2006-05-31 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-05-31 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-05-31 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-05-31 06:41 pm (UTC)This is going to be my new motto... thank you!
xxx
no subject
on 2006-05-31 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-05-31 10:45 pm (UTC)xxx