I hate my job. I've always hated my job, but today, hatred is going above and beyond the call to a whole new level of loathing. Today, I hate my job with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns
I am a telemarketer. Well, actually, now that telemarketing has been all but outlawed I am a "Telephone Survey Specialist" but when you are taking a 2 ½ minute survey, that actually takes 5 minutes, about a product that you have never used before, and I didn't cold call you, my automatic number generator did… yeah I'm actually a telemarketer.
Everyday sucks when you have to go sit on those god-awful chairs, wear the world's most uncomfortable headset, and cold call people to ask them their views and reactions to an unnamed erectile dysfunction medication. But today the automatic "dial a dipshit" machine called a very special number. I didn't know that 0o was an area code. I now know that dialing 1-(0o)555-6669 has basically the same affect as dividing by zero. Except, instead of just warping time and space it warps YOU through time and space.
And now I'm in Narnia. Like hardcore White Witch, Mr. Tumnus, Don't Eat the Turkish Delight, Narnia! I think I actually connected to the White Witches old school rotary telephone for a second because as soon as I said "Hello, I'm with Western Satisfaction, and I'd like to ask you a few questions about YOUR satisfaction", she screamed "How Dare You!". This is not all unusual, except that right after that I got a shiver up my spine, my vision blurred and my ears popped. I thought my contacts slipped and they turned on the air conditioner, but when everything finally resolved I was chained to the floor in an ice dungeon. It sucks because every time I warm up a spot that I'm sitting on it melts and I'm sitting in a puddle of ice water on the rocks. This is so not worth the $6.50 an hour…