Work Hard, Play Hard!

Afternoon All, 

I hope you are all well and toasty where you are currently as here in Britain we are in a teeth-chatteringly cold snap to which I hope ends soon. I wish that I could just make like a door-mouse sometimes and just hibernate until spring arrives. Safe to say that in the first week of February, winter now officially sucks!

What doesn't suck though is working at a call centre with no rewards for nearly half a year. Of course I am joking with this one. Working at the call centre day in, day out, week after week with nothing to show for my hard work is taking its toll. So far I have saved up a fair chunk and am now not only hitting triple figures but very nearly quadruple digits in my 'Vegas Fund' bank balance. I am sure that with now less that six-weeks to go before I board my British Airways flight bound for Sin City (Floppy fedora and oversized sunglasses accompanying me) and with even less weeks worth of working I am sure looking forward to getting back to a normal life of coming home after work and still seeing the sun. 

In all honesty working at the call centre isn't all horrific crackly lines and being hung up on. In several instances it has been a very enjoyable time and one of which my day has been made between the hours of 5.30pm and 9pm. I am grateful of course to whomever decides that they would like to complete a call with me but even more so if they can have a laugh and maybe a cheeky flirt with me too. 

On one occasion, only a few weeks into my job I called a business address by mistake and upon answering a gruff Scottish voice answered in testosterone tones. After sadly confirming it was a business line I was asked a question that took me by such surprise I ended up fabricating a complete lie and feeling chuffed about the response. 
"Ohh, Waait. Before yee goh Miss can I ask yeez a question?" The manly Scot asked (Spelt as said in his thick northern accent). Humouring him I agreed to answer, praying it wasn't something lude or vulgar. 
"Aare yuh maarried? Cas tha' vooice o' yours is prrroper seexy. I'd marry yuh ... " My masculine caller purred down the phone. Trying my best to answer in a polite and professional manner I thanked the gentleman and swiftly put down the phone before having to take a moment to compose myself and gather my scatty thoughts. I had never, nor have I ever been someone to fall for a Scotsman before, but I could somehow imagine him beefed up slightly only wearing jeans a size too small and a hard hat in some sort of hot, sweaty, oily construction site, surrounded by his equally hot and seductive friends. 

Another call I took once was from a man who played with me throughout the call and answered my questions promptly and productively only for me to get to the end of the call and I then had to take his email address for contact purposes. Jotting it down the now familiar voice asked down the phone for me to read it - but only in my head. I read it back to him phonetically as I clocked what was happening - 'sean sports therapist' was part of his email address (obviously would not disclose all of it ... you might all email him) but when written down correctly and as I had taken it it looked like a very VERY different sentence (Take out the spaces in 'sports therapist' and you'll see what I mean). Shocked and at a loss for words my caller immediately realised what had just happened and apologised profusely throughout the rest of the conversation and explaining many, many times that he was not what it looked like. All in all he calmly, although sheepishly finishing off by letting me know that I had his email address and that I could contact him any time. Although it probably breached some sort of data protection I did email him and to my surprise he seemed like a very nice lovely man in his mid-late twenties, clearly buff from all the 'sports therapist' work he had been doing. 

I think it is those sorts of calls that make the shifts go faster. I mean sure I will have days where I want to hang myself with the phone line because some grandma has a problem with me calling at 5.43pm because Countdown is on or that a Londoner "just simply does not have time" but there are also the funny people that make my adrenaline run sky high when they are yelling, quite literally, down the line before I have even introduced myself. One women thought that my questions (I work in Market Research call centre if you hadn't already guessed) were far too personal - I had asked her whether Boris Johnson was a good mayor of London - And so proceeded to interview me asking if I was a lesbian and if I fancied having sex with a girl. Another women wailed down the phone that her dog had died because the phone rang and he had a heart attack and she was just too distressed to talk to me right now. 

Some of them are hilarious. Including the ones where the person on the other end of the phone is doing something completely unorthodox whilst you twitter on about lifestyle choices and the war in Syria. I have spoken to several people on the toilet who have either half way through or ended the call by allowing me to hear them flush, or worse, deposit their contents. One man was even in the bath and after openly telling me it was a good time to call he continued to splish and splash about and make me fully aware that he was in the tub. The funny thing is, as when someone is on hands-free whilst driving, you can hear the echoey sounds of the water closet. You may think it a secret and nobody knows, but we know alright when your taking a dump and answering some questions on your poor customer service of late. 

And that is the joy of working in a call centre. Asking the questions and getting the answers that everyone wants to know. On the front-line of hard hitting studies and surveying I class myself as a fully equipped and well trained soldier, fighting the war on hanging up the phone and lies of being too busy. I am the Queen when it comes to Telephone work. That is all I have for you today, thank you and goodbye ... *Booooooooop* <--- Call ending tone.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx