10.10.2005

Monster Conglomerate, Inc.

Bad workers can't be controlled by management, especially when they're ready to pretend to be loyal employees and otherwise lie to the enemy.

I simultaneously love and hate my new job.
Into only my second week of training, I'm learning a lot of technical info that, quite honestly, I would have paid to obtain.
Being thrown onto telephones the first three days (no training, no warning) to do outbound calls obtaining usage counts on equipment was a fucking nightmare. I was on the verge of throwing my headset at the closest authority figure. This would have been quite easy to do, as the site director, project manager, trainer, various supervisors and an HR honcho were all circling in panicked conferences around our cubicles. Oddly enough though, whenever one of us cogs stood in panic with a software, VoIP, or client issue, all they had to offer were blank stares and furtive whispers into their OP-control walkie talkies.

All through the first day, I had fantasies of standing at the revolving security doors, swiping my ID card and flinging it backward over my shoulder with a ear-splitting cry of "FUCK THE SYSTEM!"

The entire a.m. training crew hung on through those horrible first 3 days, and now we're settled into a 'blended learning' class to prepare for being thrown onto the phones yet again. The countdown commences.

The classroom population could have been copied and pasted from a high school basic maths class, summer school version, the only difference being, there are some others like myself who appear to be parental chaperones of socially retarded teenagers.

There are girls in the classroom who talk at a giggly pitch all through the lectures on confidentiality, 'customer care', log-on processes and various software systems. These same girls frequently apply frosted pink lip gloss, file their nails, comb their hair, change hairstyles and discuss their menstrual cycles during class time. They all invite me to join them on IM after work, or go the bar before heading home. Bless their useless little hearts. They don't take notes, but having pegged me as the maternal alpha female nerd, they invite me to lunch in hopes that I'll help them. I find myself hiding out from them in the deviant smoker section outdoors. Highschool all over again.

There is only one real man in the class, a wonderfully clever and mature aboriginal guy. He's pushing 40 with a great sense of humour and deserves a better job. There are several dorky blowhards who keep their noses far up the trainer's arse, and bombard the group with their wit and knowledge, interrupting any sincere question with convoluted and largely inaccurate answers, while the trainer takes it all in and thanks them for their input. I can assume these assholes will shortly be promoted to supervisors or quality control. God help us all.

On the positive side, I like getting a paycheck. It's less than half of what my husband makes, but it's enough to cover the rent and hopefully we can sock some away in a mortgage RRSP. I enjoy getting up at 4 a.m. and getting out of the house. I really like the SecureID, and would love to wear it on my badge (pretentious nerd that I am), but of course the management considers us far too stupid and irresponsible to be allowed to have possession of them. If you lose one, there would be a three week waiting period to obtain a new one. We'll have to be good little worker bees and stand in line at the OP station and wait for them to be handed out pre-shift.

I also enjoy the actual work. I have always liked efficient and personable tech support people, and think I'll probably do okay with it. It's a shame I can't talk about it publicly, but the company I'll be contracted to doesn't want their US clientele or employees knowing that they've outsourced to a Canadian company while simultaneously causing massive layoffs in the US.


Hear that? That's the sound of a soul sucking. Far and wee.


"Good ________ , Thank you for calling Monster Conglomerate Technical Support. My name is Allison, how may I help you today?"

"I can help you that. First, may I have your first and last name, telephone number, correct mailing address and email?"

~verify everything, ad nauseum, while frantically searching database for the correct tech info~

~run customer through 1 to 3.14159265 various possible answers to problem, while repeatedly using their preferred name to foster the impression of caring, personalized service and taking copiously detailed and depersonalized notes for reference in the Borg Collective database~

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Thank you for calling Monster Conglomerate Technical Support, have a great day!"