Tales from an ISP Call Center Monkey
This is in response to powervator's excellent story below, which I will duly *click* once I have finished here.

Have you ever called in to your ISP and thought 'gee, if I worked there, with my brilliance in the IT field, maybe my users wouldn't hate company X so much...'?

Well, I have. I lived in my first dorm experience at a private residence hall, and for the first semester, speeds were beyond abysmal. Having attained multiple certifications out of high school (back when I foolishly believed that such were worth more than the roll of Charmin sitting atop my toilet), I proclaimed near and far as to what the reasons were for the speeds that would make a college freshman yearn for sweet sweet dialup.

Spring semester came, and I learned I was wrong. I also learned that I was now employed, and tasked with making sure that the dorm never again had a problem.

I would like to say "And under my unwavering hand, the network ran like Pop-eye deepthroating a field of spinach." Unfortunately, I must instead lead with the following: It is because of this initial employment, and my continued employment with the original ISP's successor, that I have come to a conclusion that will startle each and every one of you: everyone on this planet is dumb as fuck.

I now work in three separate departments for my current employer. I am the technician that goes out to property to work on resident's internet connections, I am the helpdesk monkey that takes calls and arranges appointments for other hapless technicians, and finally, I am a supervisor overseeing all of the above.

I have seen enough stuff to make me weep in frustration as I flagellate a baby pachyderm to release my pent up rage.

My favorite stories are always of the users, god love 'em, because they in most cases can be excused their idiocy... until of course they presume to tell me my job. Then the gloves come off and I unleash a torrent of jargon that would make Geordi stand mouth agape trying to process. I have, in fact, had the following exchange:
Me:"Ma'am, I hate to ask this, but is your cable plugged in?"
Her: [EXASPERATED SIGH] "Yes. It is plugged-"
[audible male "huh" then *CLICK*]
Her: [Embarrassed Noises] "Well, my boyfriend just plugged it back in, it, um, must have gotten disconnected, you know, well,thanksalotforyourhelpbye!"

The stories that make me cringe are tales from other technicians who go into resident apartments and are faced with undeniable proof that some of the most unhygenic slobs known to the face of this earth do not possess a penis, down to floors that are covered in layers of food wrappers, feminine hygiene products, and dirty undergarments. *Visibly* dirty undergarments. *shudder*

And yet, all of that is nothing compared to when I call *my* ISP...

"Thank you for calling Chanter Communicators*, is your modem plugged in?"

DEAR GODS NO!

*name changed to protect the guilty

length? 6 years and counting.
(blinkin the merrily misanthropic IT gremlin, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 19:28, 1 reply)

Hehe
It always works.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 20:29, closed)