The manner of my employment.

Alright. So I've been a little coy about it all. You know, my involvment with the Occult. OoOoh. Quelle horror!

Erm, well no, it's not that interesting, really. But it is more evil; it's a power to be feared more than Satan himself. The entity of which I speak is (insert crash of thunder here)... Faceless Corporation^TM. Dun-dunnnn. Le gasp! Oooh, did your eyes just dart around the room too? Mine did.

Yes, I'll admit my somewhat shameful day job: I'm a call centre minion. But we're the good kind of call centre (if such a thing exists) - we take incoming calls so, you know, I won't be interrupting your dinner/TV viewing/wild sex of an evening. Of course, as an anti-doocing measure, I can't disclose which multinational for whom I'm doing the devil's bidding.

I don't mind the job all that much. The people are nice and the pay is-- erm-- peanuts. But you know, pay peanuts and you get monkeys, and, well, I'm a monkey. And gosh the customers are shit. Paraphrasing a few words of wisdom from Keisha of Bromwell High: they're shitter than shit; they're so shit that they make me want to plug my ears with shit, and eat some shit, and then do a shit. Ah, I heart gratuitous swearing. But it's all good; the hot lads in the employ of Faceless Corporation^TM more than make up for the bum customers.

And speaking of bum customers, as of yesterday all the Victorian calls are now being sent up to the Faceless Corporation^TM's Brisbane call centre (who pretty much now take calls from every other state) instead of us, so now I only have to deal with New South Welshmen, women and children who've taken it upon themselves to be shit. Apparently the Victorians are ruder and well, more shit. Or so I've been told. Not a sentiment I share, of course. Erm, yeah.


Listening to:
Title: Mr Brightside (Jacques Lu Cont's Thin White Duke Mix)
Artist: The Killers
Album/station: Ministry of Sound: Sessions Two (2005) Disc 2
Length: 5.14