Tantrums

I'm afraid I may be allergic to corporate life. My eyes are again swollen for no apparent reason and I blame sitting in front of a computer all day under florescent lights. Years ago I used to pride myself on being able to effectively handle any type of customer, however difficult. Talk them down from their high horse and get them to realize how ridiculous they sounded carrying on about this or that. A year and a half out of customer service and I've lost not only my patience, but also my words in such cases. I sit there, valid arguments forming in my head, but they just won't roll off my tongue. I just can't get past the fact that these people are calling me for help, but yell at me when they don't like the answer I give, the questions I ask or the speed at which my computer operates. I just don't care. I find it baffling that some people have nothing better to do then call up customer service and yell and scream and carry on. All I can think is how spoiled we are. I feel like screaming, "Don't you think there are more serious problems in the world worth yelling about than whether or not your fax machine is working?" Maybe if these people would yell just as loud about things that really matter our world would be a better place. I listen to the other agents, swearing and making a stink with the customer on hold, about how stupid the caller is and I think it's not the stupid questions that bug me. The very fact that technical support exists, at least on the level at which I work, is not because people are not smart enough to understand what they've bought, it's because they're too lazy to try. Too lazy to open the book and follow the basic instructions. Dependant on other people to solve their problems for them, rather than taking a moment to think about the situation. Did I check to see if it were plugged in? Did I turn it on? Is there paper in it? Instead they pick up the phone, dial the 1-800 number on the box and yell about the poor quality of the product, scream about the stupidity of all the companies employees and carry on like a two year old having a tantrum over a side of brussel sprouts. I've become much more adept at dealing with children having tantrums, I realize. Often times all it takes is a cocking of the head, a glance in their direction or a certain tone when calling their name. Their outbursts are also more acceptable, understandable and rarely show the same disrespect as you get from adults. I've intensified my search for a teaching job and will hopefully find something permanent for September. I just haven't the energy to commute to the West Island five days a week, leaving the house at 7am and if I head to yoga after, arriving home only at 9pm. I haven't the energy for the job because it isn't even in the direction of where I'm headed and I hate that this is all I have on my mind on a beautiful Saturday morning. Other than my work and the subsequent swollen eye, I feel fantastic. I feel super healthy thanks to my yoga classes this week and I am happy to see that the hole in Fred's belly is very close to closing. Last Sunday marked our five year anniversary, which is pretty amazing given all that we've gone through together. And the fact that previously I wouldn't have last four months before running away screaming, terrified that I was teetering on the edge of a committed relationship. I have friends in town for the next couple weeks, preparing for Thelma's wedding in Ottawa. I haven't seen Thelma in two year, so it'll be great to hang out and get some Bloody Caesars in us. Hopefully we have the good sense to stop before a Caesar induced hang-over!

Florescent Lighting Hurts My Eyes (and corporate air makes them swell)

Three weeks have passed since I last posted, I know. I finally recognized that my search for a teaching position was over for the season and would have to be put on hold for the summer. Despite my lengthy cv (or perhaps because of it), I have spent the last two months searching for any job that would pay me to show up... and preferably only to do that. I finally accepted a job as a tech support agent at Brother Canada in the middle of nowhere (Dollard-des-Ormeaux) and grudgingly showed up for my first day of work on July 3rd. Of course, the moment I started, the phone began to ring and all those jobs who had failed to call me back have left me messages over the last three weeks. In any case, the job at Brother comes with such perks as door to door pick-up in the morning and drop-off in the evening, along with fully catered breakfast and lunch, with the occasional snack. These are not, of course, services offered to just anybody- only those who happen to be dating Fred, provided they meet his mothers expectations. Apparently I do, so I enjoy quite the royal treatment. As for the job, it is probably the best customer service position I could ever find. The pay is not bad and the company offers its employees real perks: profit sharing, health & dental benefits, subsidized gym memberships, RRSP, financial recognition for valid suggestions and trips for the employee dubbed the best of the year. The atmosphere is largely laid back- people joke around in the cafeteria and laughter is heard in the halls. It seems there are actually companies that treat their employees well. Bulletin boards in the staff room are packed with activities planned by the social club; trips to La Ronde (amusement park), Super Aqua Club (waterslides), river boat rides to observe the fireworks competition and even a charity baseball game against a local radio station. Charity baseball games? I feel like I've tripped and fallen into a sit com. Except the pay isn't as good and my agent never called.

It all makes me feel a bit guilty that I don't want to be there. My large cubicle sits beside our customer service department; two really sweet women who talk about their kids and puke a lot. My cubicle mate, Joyce, has thus far only spoken one sentence to me. In fact, I'm not even sure her name is Joyce- I've based that entirely on the name card that is glued to her side of the wall. My ears are overwhelmed with chatter. A girl whose name I don't remember sits opposite me talking about her recent trip to Thailand. The boys talk about baseball and pretend they know what they're talking about. They seem to think 'punt hitter' is an actual baseball term. It makes me laugh. The ladies next to me talk more about puke and mucus. I try to focus on the blank page in front of me, though not a single creative or inspired thought leaks from my head. I try to force it, but all I imagine are call center stories about fax machines and silly customers. No one wants to read about that. I definitely don't want to write about that. I need to get out, and fast. The fluorescent lighting hurts my eyes and makes me drowsy, the glare off the computer screen induces paranoia, the empty pale green cubicle walls bring on an odd mix of nausea and apathy. The free coffee keeps me pumped full of mocchacinos, ensuring that I'll be conscious enough to deliver my passionate spiel about fax machines as required.