CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 021: CUSTOMER CARE -- NYAHAHA!
The responsibility for our company customer care center may be moved to my division, or so they say. During the discussions for the possible transfer, I kept thinking, "Crap, they don't know what they're getting themselves into." Given my short-lived experience in call handling, I hold the privilege of being the worst call center personnel of all time. If the transfer happens, I will be living proof that "Those who can't, lead."
Back in the days of the telephone monopoly, PLDT (a.k.a. the poor shmucks who made the monumental error of hiring me out of college) made the most money out of its operator-assisted long distance services. So, when the PLDT rank-and-file went on strike, those who weren't in the union (as we were **cough** "management" -- sans the management benefits) were required to sit as long distance operators.
On the first day of the strike, I arrogantly yawned my way through orientation. "It was just a friggin' phone with a headset, attached to a mainframe. How complicated could it be to work it?" I thought. By the end of my first 8 hours on the board, I was told I haven't been pushing a little red button before each call -- ergo, I have not been charging the calls I were setting up. That was probably P50,000 of revenues out the window because of me. Ooopsie.
That figure didn't even include the calls I dropped because I didn't have the energy to complete them.
Me: "PLDT, Long Distance."
Nok: "My name Nok Takdnaiorralgnadgnonlksnngalor. Call Thailand."
Me: "Could you please spell your name for me, Ma'm?"
Nok: "Eng-Or-Kay . . ." (spells rest of name for ten minutes)
Me: (Aaaaw, hell...) "One moment please." (Press "end call")
I don't know howpatientpeople do it -- they possess gifts I will never have. All I know is the world is a better place because my rear end is not parked in a call center somewhere.
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5.16.2003
MY BORACAY
Everybody –- as in absolutelyeverybody –- has been to Boracay this summer. Even my friend Tess (who is 6 months pregnant), her 1-year old daughter and their dog have a Boracay tan. Everyone has recently had their moment under the clear blue smog-less Boracay sky and has had the island’s powder-fine white sand creep stealthily into their crevices. That is, everyone except me.
Not that I should complain really. The last time I was in Boracay was in 1993 (jeez, that’s ten years ago!) when urban-dwellers were only starting to discover its charm. Yes, folks, I saw Boracay before they built the country clubs, the golf courses and the spas. Back then, having a “Boracay body” meant you were a local fisherman whose motor boat konked out a lot and you got buff because you had to swim 20 kilometers to shore one too many times. “Going out for dinner” meant we had to brave the local talipapa [wet market] and had to ask a kind toothless local to charcoal-broil us some fish and eggplants, which we devoured on banana leaves by the beach. A beach front hut rented out for less than 500 pesos (US$ 10). There was no phone on the island (much less a cell site to give coverage to our 2-kilogram cellphone-in-a-bag) –- just an antiquated public trunk radio system run by a guy who got his kicks imagining he was a communications officer for the Navy or something (“Rujir. Tin-por un dat, gud badi. Obir-obir.”). The only Boracay souvenir you could get was the sand you harvest out of rear crack when you got home.
Crazy as it may sound, I loved the “old” Boracay – my Boracay. Clearly, the whole “lifestyle” associated with the island these days is a far cry from the sleepy rural village that first blew me away.
‘Wonder if going back means I’m setting myself up for disappointment?
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5.07.2003
LIHI
According to the Filipino folklore-ish concept of paglilihi, many non-medical factors -- e.g., the food we crave, the people we like, the people who piss us off –- have an unexplainable bearing on the characteristics, and even the fate, of the child forming in an expectant woman's womb.
If there was any truth in that drivel, then . . .
. . . my child will be thin, pink and “hard to get” -- just like the Japanese crab sticks I like to eat these days.
. . . my child will be sweet, universally desired and heat-intolerant -– just like the cheesecakes I’ve been craving for (but have not been eating because my doctor says I shouldn’t! aaargh!).
. . . my child will become a goofball delivery guy/gal, will have a robot best friend, and will have a strange romantic attraction for one-eyed aliens -- just like Fry.
. . . my child will be butt-ugly, will walk funny, and will like ending emails with “inspirational” quotes –- just like the evil I.T. humanoid (if my mother were alive today, she would insist that this is a reason compelling enough to stop going to work until I deliver).
Here’s my take on all the fuss. Don’t mothers have enough “real” concerns to think about when they’re with-child? Don’t children have enough bogus liabilities to blame on their parents? God help me, I will slap my child unconscious the day he/she blames me for his/her failure to have a successful relationship because I didn’t eat enough (insert random food selection here) when I was pregnant.
You have been warned: the next person who cautions me about the food I eat and the people I bitch at because my child might look like it/them, will get a giant thwack on the splenius capitis.
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5.05.2003
MY NEW SUPER POWERS
Pregnancy has sent my senses on hyperdrive. I feel like a *bleep*ing Marvel superhero. A really fat one.
Last week, a lady wearing vanilla perfume got in the elevator with me. The scent sent me prying the metal doors open with my fingernails before we got to my floor, as I could actually taste her perfume. Eeew.
I thought that was freaky -- until I realized yesterday that, between my husband and my two boys, I could tell who farted by the smell alone. Yep, I'm sure that skill will save mankind very soon.
And don't get me started on garlic. I could taste traces of the thing (a spice I abhor when pregnant) on plates even after thorough washing. Vampire-ish almost. Uh and no, despite my husband’s constant pleading, I have no intention of naming my unborn child Spike.
My eyes are also very keen these days. I could always find that last Oreo pack in the cupboard -– even in the dark of night. And "with this great gift comes a great responsibility" deal of itching from the Oreo crumbs left on my bed.
If only my new powers could help me reach my toenails. As I’m five months on the way, it’s getting harder to paint them myself. Sigh.
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5.02.2003
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 020: LORD OF THE LAPTOP
It was 11 pm. Evil I.T. humanoid was still sitting at its desk, weaving its dastardly plan.
“I want to rule the world,” it said in a coarse, malevolent voice that arose from the hollow of its dark soul. “In time, they will fall on their knees and beg for my help.” The blank blue screen cast harsh light on its ugly face.
The next day, the first order of business was to retrieve a laptop from the office of a lady on the tenth floor. The laptop has crashed twice in the past two weeks. The evil I.T. humanoid wanted the machine "repaired" and sent back to its user, knowing the hardware will crash again, as nothing pleased evil I.T. humanoids more than the sound of bitter wailing after the loss of unsaved data. But the lady on the tenth floor was firm – she wanted the faulty laptop replaced.
“The bitch will suffer for her audacity,” the evil I.T. humanoid said under its breath. A plan was hatched behind its false smile. “She will get a crappy service unit and I will lose the request for a replacement. She will not get a portable device until I bid it so! Mwahahaha!”
The evil creature delighted at the trust of the lady on the tenth floor. Later, it heard she was pregnant and hypertensive – and not likely to raise a fuss. “Excellent,” it said in triumph.
For five months, the evil I.T. creature drew silent pride in knowing the lady on the tenth floor will not get a laptop until she begged for a ray of attention. This was going to drag on for months and the poor lady didn’t even know it. The evil I.T. creature was very, very happy.
But its happiness was not meant to last. Mysteriously, the evil I.T. creature was found strangled by its desk today. The assailant skillfully used a maternity belt.
Good over evil – that’s how the world works, kiddies.
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