Which is a shame, because there is so much material there.

But this dude nails it.

The opening line is:

“Why I’d rather be punched in the testicles than call customer service”.

Nuff said.

Get over there and check out his lickable eyetastic ode to calling customer service.

This letter was just sent back to me, over 5 years after i wrote it, by one of my friends who still works there, he said, “We are still laughing hard.”

An open letter to CEOdude,

Congratulations on your win over the lowest paid workers in your company, I knew you had it in you. Enterprised bargaining agreement, bargaining, what bargaining? You walked in like John Wayne and the word bargaining had new meaning. I remember a few years ago, you walking in to our office looking decidedly cautious when you tried to persuade us ignorant workers that taking a pay freeze would be the only way to give us job security. Can you believe we fell for that? Some of us even thought when you started making obscene profits, especially those around the 900 million mark, we would be rewarded. You knew better though didn’t you? What a plan, use the fall of your competitor and a terrorist attack on another country to improve revenue. Brilliant.

What a shame though you had to pay us 3% this time, just imagine if another deadly flu went through Asia in June, we would have happily settled for a wage freeze. Then you could have asked for a potential (at least that’s what my manager called it) 77% pay rise from the shareholders next time.

I can just dream of the smile on your face after you counted your latest bonus, then you and Margaret joked about how great life was. After that you even had the patience to listen to James tell you how hard he has worked to get to the top. How marvelous it feels to rip off your workers and get paid bonuses for it, what a life you have. I don’t care about all the rumours, you’re a god amongst men. I aspire to be you, rich without a care in the world, or any semblance of a conscience.

All of this came from defeating the mighty Union. The union that has 13000 members and nothing to show for it. You must have laughed into your Imported Beer when all they could muster for their so called bargaining was a few working class people and one lawyer.

Geoff, I would love to nominate you for Australian of the year, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, you know how it is working, well I’m sure you sort of remember. So maybe on my behalf you could nominate yourself, think of the campaign one of your friends on the board could run, maybe you could even get a documentary shown, just like Jame’s ex wife did. That James what an asset, I can hardly remember that business he ran into the ground now.

Another thing I love about you is the way you bagged those snobby millionaires in the Financial Review (yes poor people read that paper too), you told them, filthy rich buggers complaining about poor people arriving, as if it wasn’t ruined by rich people anyway. Us working class have got to stick together Geoff, so thanks for helping out.

Next time you’re in Melbourne we should have a beer together, I could learn so much from you. I must tell you though due to recent inflation at my local bar, and the forecast Industrial Relations changes it would be your shout. It’s three dollars a pot, and then on top of that there is a beer garden surcharge of $6, and not to forget the service fee of $5.50. Ooops I forgot the credit card fee of 1%, that is charged because they do not allow cash transactions. Now if after purchasing your beer, you decide to buy a different beer, there is a $33 dollar fee. They never explained why they charge it, and it usually takes forever for them to work it out, but hey it’s my only local bar and I can’t walk anywhere else.

Stuff it, lets boycott the pub and you can just come round to my place for a beer. Although it does get a bit hot in summer, because I can’t afford air-conditioning, but I’m sure a man in like you could slum it for one beer.

A man for the people, from the people, that sums you up. Maybe you could use that when you run for Parliament, you’ve got my vote.

Sincerely your Comrade,

Jarrod Kimber

It should be said that when I wrote this letter I was at my happiest timethere. Probably lucky I didn’t write any letters at other times.

I still like it, although if I did it today it would be different. The bit about the rumours was unnecessary.

It should be noted that CEOdude’s assistant told me he was on holiday at the time, and that he couldn’t respond until he was back.

He never responded.

I guess the average call centre conversation is funnier to people who work in call centres, or in that industry.

So instead of putting up countless conversations about customers saying stupid things, I thought I would put up conversations where I was a prick.

The first one was started by a customer being overly familiar, and obviously catching me on a bad day.

“Welcome to Bastards, this is Jarrod
Hi, Jarrod, I’m Mr Caller and I really hope you can help me, Jarrod. You see Jarrod I need a fare to India.”

That is all he did, mention my name back to me 3 times in his first two sentences too me.

So for the next 2 minutes I said his name 32 times.

I marked each one down.

A typical sentence would be like this:

“Well, Mr Caller, lets see what we can do Mr Caller, India is a tough destination, Mr Caller, but I am sure, Mr Caller, that I will able to get you there by the date you want, Mr Caller.”

After a while he got a little pissed at me, and he asked if he had done something wrong?

“No, Mr Caller, why would you think that, Mr Caller”.

He never brought it up again, what could he do really? He couldn’t complain to my supervisor, no one was going to tell me off for repeating the customers name too much (one of the ten commandments of call centres).

When we were finished I said:

“Thanks for your call, Mr Caller, you have a good day Mr Caller”.

And he mumbled ok and hung up.

I might be a prick, but that one call made my whole day better, Mr Caller probably had a story to tell people, and most importantly I gave him the information he required.

Service with subterfuge.

I like nothing other than the odd finger up my ass.

But I need a name for them.

I’ve settled on the bastards.

They weren’t cunts, well not most of the time, and they were rarely fucken cunts, but they were bastards, every fucken day.

Other than paying me and employing people I could have a laugh with me they were pretty fucken ordinary employers, and bastards pretty much sums it up.

The other employer who won’t be mentioned as much will be called the wankers.

And they were.

So instead of me writing the name of either company, it will be bastards and wankers.

Which is probably nicer than I called them when I worked for them.

Just because work on the opposite shift to you doesn’t mean you can take my margarine, cordial or left over chicken.  If I ever catch you I’ll kick your fucken ass, but before I did that I would want to ask you what my spit tastes like as I spit in everyfuckenthing I put in the fridge.

9. Headsets.

I didn’t mean to break it, so don’t tell me how much it costs when I tell you about it.  Don’t make me feel guilty; everyone breaks their work equipment. These are fiddly little things that aren’t built to last forever, and they definitely aren’t made to survive me “accidentally” stepping on them, so pass the new one over and stick the attitude up your ass.

8. Training.

There is no doubt I couldn’t do my job if you employers didn’t keep me in the know.  However, training me for something that won’t come in place for 7 months is like teaching a 5 year old to drive, and then giving him his licence to drive at 18 without anything in-between.   PS: Cheat sheets are shit.

7. Managers.

While it is true I work in a call centre, it is not true I am a complete fucken idiot.  Don’t talk about the job like it is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Don’t pretend there is any chance of promotion.  Don’t tell me the company applauds my efforts. And for fuck sake don’t smile at me like you remember my name.  Just get back into your glass office and pretend you have work to do.

6.  War boards.

Don’t you fucken flash at me you arrogant LED cunt.  I know there is a long wait time, I can tell by the tone in each and every customer’s voice, I don’t need you going red, flashing, and telling me that the next call I take has waited for 37 minutes. One day I shall burn you down and laugh maniacally.

5. KPIs.

I understand that call centres run well by ensuring all employees adhere to their target Key Performance Indicators, but the human condition does not work that way.  Some customers require extra work, some require none. Some employees work well in the morning, some in the afternoon. So coming up to me before I have had my 9 minute shit in the morning and telling me my KPIs are below par is going to result in you being mocked, abused or ignored.  If you mention any other acronyms I may throw up on your shoes.

4. Masturbators.

Come on.  What sort of depraved dickhead is so hard up for sex that they need to ring a telephone directory or Internet company to beat their meat.  Cough up the 2 dollars a minute and beat it to someone who gets paid for it.  Plus, I am a dude, and you are a dude, both of us are straight, so if you are beating off to me, a non sex working call centre operator, you have severe problems.  I suggest suicide.

3. Supervisors.

Yes I realise you get paid 3 dollars more than me per hour and that the boss knows your name, but I am actually not a fucken battery hen, and from time to time, I like to take a deep breath whilst thinking about anything other than my depressing location.  Also, if you want me to be productive, perhaps you should stop coming over and telling me I am not productive.

2. Customers.

I empathise with your situation, I sympathise even, I really do. I get fucked up the ass by this company on a daily basis, so I understand your pain.  But if you raise your voice at me one more time I am going to put a note in your file that says you racially abused me.  See what help you get off my colleagues in the future.

1. Toilet breaks.

I have irritable bowel syndrome and occasional constipation problems.  So the last thing I need is some uptight supervisor waiting at the toilet door to tell me that I have had too many toilet breaks for the day. Think about it as well, if I am having trouble pissing or shitting, will knowing that you are waiting at the door help me do it quicker?  If I am truly just wasting time, you won’t be able to prove it anyway.

I suppose that is fair, battery hens never have their toilet breaks timed.

Over the years I worked in two call centres, the semi-professional type, and the college kid type.

Both sucked ass, but with 7 years of that behind me I need a sarcastic cathartic way of getting all my old ansgt of my chest.

I am planning on turing my years of hell into a book, and am using this site as a way to kick the shit out of it.

I’m also willing for this to be an interactive site, if you have a story to tell, email it to me, and I’ll put it up.

Share the pain is my motto.