go away, I'm posh
My preferred means for getting rid of home imporvemtn sales calls (double glazing etc) is to tell them you live in a listed building and therefore are not permitted to fit double glazing.

If pushed, tell them you live in a castle, they won't notice that your address is clearly a dull terraced house in Milton Keanes and they will leave you alon.

the down side is that now and again they will pass your details on to another company who will nag you to buy a new portcullis and cannons.
(cornishbob is going to hell on, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 11:07, 2 replies)

Complaining in the right way can pay
Further to davy’s post below – complaining in the right way (indignant, calm, polite but clear how angry you are etc) can work.

I have had to take a watch back to be repaired to a certain posh shop in Knightsbridge (it was a present – no way I would have spent that sort of money on a watch). It has had to be taken back three times for the same fault.

The last time a – couple of weeks ago – I explained my disappointment, frustration etc in a calm & clear manner. In addition to getting it all sorted they have given me a £150.00 gift card as an apology – result.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:39, 4 replies)

Double glazing companies
I've found that the easiest way to get rid of them, when they are trying to offer you the deal of your life by fitting replacement windows (Or any other home improvement bargains) is to say that you are a tenant of a private landlord, and that you rent via an agency so no you don't have the direct contact number. Simple, efficient, and gets you on the don't bother list quite quickly.
Same goes for idiots offering secured loans as well.
(Sir Tainley Barking Ezekiel 23:20, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:36, Reply)

I'm not proud of this
In a fit of post-university optimism I moved up to live with my girlfriend in darkest Suffolk in the rather naive hope that we'd both get jobs, save up some money and go "travelling, man". The only job I managed to land was working in the mother of all call centres. Instead of working for just one firm, we were the call centre for 80 disparate companies, from car insurance to those TV shopping channels.

Early attempts to amuse myself started with answering the phone thus: "Hello, Horatio / Zebadee / Lucifer speaking, how can I help?", but this quickly got boring.

Then I realised that one of our clients was a cosmetic surgery company. I'd get around four or five calls a night from men asking for penis "enhancement". We were supposed to take down names, contact details and what procedure clients wanted so that the surgeons could call them back in the morning. But I took my job much more seriously than that.

Me: "And what procedure was it that you wanted?"
Poor bastard customer: "Err, well...it's...it's penile surgery."
"Fine. And was it to make your penis larger or smaller?"
"Um...larger."
"Good, good. Now, can you tell me your current measurements?"
"Err, is this strictly necessary?"
"Well Sir, I'm sorry; but the surgeons have to know what they're dealing with before they can give you an estimate."
"Um...OK...well it's about 4 inches..."
"Would that be erect or flaccid?"
[sotto voce] "Erect..."
[in booming, yet procedural voice, audible to everyone in the call centre] "OK, so you have a penis which is four inches erect; and to what size would you like it enlarged? Medical science can do wondrous things these days, you know."

They stopped giving me shifts after three weeks. Must have been monitoring the calls...
( Mr Mann I love pigs, best of all the animals, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:25, 1 reply)

When my girlfriend gave birth suddenly at home I rang the emergency services for help
Now afterwards the bastards won’t pay for my phone repair. I was only following instructions - they told me to cut the fucking cord.
( SpankyHanky, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:22, 4 replies)

I wish to register a complaint.
When I buy things, I tend to expect a certain standard of customer service. Obviously I'm not fool enough to think that the person selling me things actually likes me, but I hope for them to at least pretend to value my custom and opinions for as long as it takes for the transaction to be completed.

On the other side of this is that when things go wrong I get to write stroppy complaint letters, which is always fun. I recently attempted to buy some stuff from a popular online retailer, which proved to be a serious error. The delivery went wrong and I got bounced around their call centre for the best part of a week fruitlessly trying to get some sort of answer.
When complaining I've often found that it pays off to take your compaint as far up the management structure as possible, so I got my hands on the email address of their chief executive, and sent him this:

Dear Mr. X

A little over two weeks ago, I made a purchase from your website. For your records your UPI number was 123 456789 and your Senders Reference was 123456. On the 26th of June I got a 'we called, you were out' card through my letterbox from your contracted delivery company Useless, Inc. I enclose a scan of this document so you can see what I've had to work with. Most of the card is completely unintelligible as I don't read Serbo-Croat, but someone suggested that the word after 'we left your package in a safe place' is 'Behind'. That's all we can work out.
I live in a top-floor flat. The only way to leave anything 'behind' my flat is to throw it out of a window, so it can't possibly mean that. So behind what? Or who? Or where?

After searches 'behind' (behind the bins, behind the door, behind the tree over the road, behind the cat) proved fruitless I rang Useless Inc. on June the 29th to ask about my package and was told that in fact they still had it and would be happy to deliver it to me on Wednesday the 1st of July.
As it hadn't turned up on Friday the 3rd of July I rang again and was told that someone who could help with my problem would call me back.
I spent the weekend of the 4th and 5th untroubled by anything like a call back and so rang Useless Inc. again on Monday the 6th, when I was told that someone who could help with my problem would call back.
On Tuesday the 7th, I rang again and was told - you guessed it! - that someone who could help with my problem would call me back.
You won't be surprised to learn that nobody did, and so I rang again yesterday - Wednesday the 8th - and was promised (scouts honour, hand on heart) that someone who could help with the problem would call me back "Within half an hour".

After a further 24 hours of silence I've given up on Useless Inc. and I'm writing to you direct. I'd rather not be doing so and I'm fairly confident that it's not what you wanted when you got out of bed this morning either. I have a contract with you, Mr X, to deliver me some goods. I would still rather like them. Unfortunately your delivery subcontractors have now messed me around half-a-dozen times and they're doing my opinion of your customer service no favours. My normally patient and sunny disposition is wearing thin.

I'd be grateful if you could have a word with them and get my purchase to me as soon as possible. Failing that a refund would be an acceptable alternative, but I'd rather get the stuff I actually bought from you.

I look forward to hearing from you, if only because I haven't heard from anyone else.

Yours, etc.

Taking complaints right to the top works; I had an apology and a full refund within an hour of hitting 'send'.
(davywavy, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:17, 8 replies)

EDF
I used to do tech support for EDF and invariably ended up stuck on hold all day because they had no direct dial and needed to find whoever in the callcentre had broken something. I used to be able to tune out their hold music. They then replaced it with "Its not easy being green" every other repeat. If you think it was bad on the advert the full length track is so much worse. They decided to sell it as a single which surprisingly didn't sell but if you want to torture someone you can probably still download it. I had to wear headphones under my headset to blast over Kermit's lift music remix with Armin van Buuren just to stop me from tearing my eardrums out. I feel sorry for anyone that calls them now. They are probably using Jim Henson's in grave rotation as a power source for future generations.
(ME-tan, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:15, 2 replies)

Briinnggg Briinnggg - Briinnggg Briinnggg !!!

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, sir - I'm phoning to let you know you have a penis the size and girth of a chipolata, every girlfriend you've ever had has dumped you because you are - without doubt - the most dull, stupid, boring thick-as-pigshit dollop of rancid, pube-encrusted, disease-ridden chickenspunk who's ever lived, and your own parents hate you and wish you were adopted. Thanks for your time, sir."

-click-

"Jeeeze... that was a cold call..."
( SpankyHanky, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 10:11, Reply)

After placing your pea on a roasting tin
place in the oven at 180deg for 50 minutes, then leave to rest before carving:

b3ta.com/questions/customersfromhell/post239161
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 9:21, Reply)

0.002 Dollars
Well worth listening to the full 27min version if you have the time:
xkcd.com/verizon/

But there is also the short version:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2isSJKntbg
(Psymon_Spark Jesus Saves! The rest of you take 4d6 damage, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 9:09, 3 replies)

I'm in love with a sex line operator
I tried to give her a ring and ask her to marry me. Unfortunately, she was already engaged.
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 7:38, 1 reply)

the emo hotline is mixed.
It's quick, because no one else talks to them. But they keep cutting themselves off.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 1:49, 2 replies)

The Season has started
A couple of relevant notes.

I run an IT support company in Barcelona (as previously noted, looking after a fair few spankshops), obviously concentrating on the English market.

This time of year, language schools are banging the phones drumming up trade.

As small businesses go, we have a shit hot phone system, what with being Panasonic PBX installers and all, and as the office is in the house, then the house is in the same system but with a different number, though calls can be go from one side to the other if you press the right buttons

Points to note done. So, I'm beavering away in the office ("beavering" in this case being looking at big hairy one scourtesy of Usenet) and the phone rings, as it is want to do.

Them: Hello, I'm calling from xyz language school, are you interesting in learning English?
Me: You've been through the IVR, where you got the option to press 2 for english- do you think we'd have that as an option if we couldn't speak it
Them: Oh, OK. What about Computers then? That's a useful thing to know about
Me: We're an IT company, as is mentioned in the company name in the first welcome message in the IVR, then again in the menu letting you choose "talk to the duty tech"
Them.What about German then?
Me: Ich lebte im Dusseldorf für 2 jahre, und dachten die Deutschen, dass ich war deutsch.
Them: So you don't want any lessons then.
Me. No, not today

within a minute the phone rings again. Thanks to consecutive number blocks, it's them again, this time calling the number that by default gives all the exact same options, but in English instead of Spanish. Yes, they asked if I wanted lessons in English before realising. Soon after than fax number rang, then the phone again, showing my direct nubmber that skips the IVR, but does play a message in Spanish then English saying to hang on for the duty tech while the desk phone rings before passing the call to my mobile if I don't pick up. I answered giving the company name, there comes a pause on the other end

Them. It's you again isn't it
Me: Yes
Them: Have you got anymore numbers I shouldn't bother ringing?

I gave her the numbers she hadn't rung yet, then told her I did actually have a friend that was interested in English, and transferred the call ...

... to my German friend that runs a language school.

It happens every year and goes on for about 3 or 4 weeks. Sometimes my missus gets them on the house number, but this year I think I'll start transferring them to the phone in the kids playroom and see what they make of bilingual computer literate (sort of) 6 and 4 year olds
(nobbyd is wanking furiously to industrial grade porn on, Tue 8 Sep 2009, 1:41, 11 replies)

market research
Simplicity itself.

Caller: ingratiating greeting, sir. do you have time blah blah survey?
Me: Erm, is your company a member of the Market Research Society?
Caller: why yes we take our responsibilities seriously etc etc...

Me: Well I'm sure you do. I myself used to work at a market research company making just these sorts of calls as a student. Yes awful isn't it? Well you cannot interview me. No, I'm afraid you can't.
You see, I know the sort of time this might take, so I will only give answers which will get me through your script in the shortest time possible thus invalidating the integrity of your research to your client. Or if I don't like your tone or if there is any obvious client bias in your questions I will offer answers which may require verbatim transcription and will involve a lot of abuse of the products mentioned, the money spent advertising them and I will constantly contradict my previous answers. Please take whatever steps you can to remove my number from your registry and never call me again or I will complain directly to the MRS and as many consumer organisations as I can think of. Good luck finding those necessary C2s and Es. Thank you"

PS If you ever get a call beginning "I'm calling ON BEHALF OF (company who genuinely supply you stuff) this is usually a market research company who have been given your contact details by said supplier. They want you feel all fuzzy about your car, phone, bed, soup etc and so buy it more often, pay more in future or give them an archetype client profile for future advertising. This why, for example, all BT ads seem cynical, manipulative and very condescending. They are informed by the opinions of people who say yes to answering a tedious customer massage call and how that client's marketeers feel these sorts of people should be treated in order to pay more or more often.
(piggy, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 23:52, Reply)

Cold caller advice
b3ta has provided a question relevant to my current situation. So I have a question for the lot of you:

My mother is currently receiving quite a few junk phonecalls. These are made by a machine, and are always about debts. No, she doesn't owe money, they're the sort of spammy calls that offer 'debt relief' services, or 'debt consolidation'. The trouble is that they're from an automated machine and the number is always withheld. She's tried hanging up. It doesn't work, she gets called back another time

Here's where the problem starts: In order to see if she can get it to stop, she's tried pressing the phone buttons corresponding to the menu in the spam call, and she gets put through to a human. The same guy, every time. The voice is quite distinct.

The trouble is that if she asks him what company he works for, what his name is, or doesn't divulge a personal detail when he asks... he hangs up. Immediately. She's tried several things, firstly just asking outright. Demanding. Asking if he was "Company X" in the attempt to get him to say "No, this is Company Y". Even played along and pretended to have a massive credit card bill that she needs help with.

Nothing works. Every time he just hangs up. It's quite obvious that he's machine-calling a lot of people, and doesn't even keep track of the numbers - he only gets 'called' when one of them starts pressing buttons on the menu to speak to a human, whether to complain or whether to go for their scammy debt-relief services

Now the TPS might be useful in shutting this type of call to her down... if she could get the information about this cunt. There are probably other methods too.

So, b3tans... any advice?

(besides waiting for him to get on the line then setting off a rape alarm next to the phone. Which would be worth it for the lulz)

EDIT: She's not on BT, and for various reasons can't block withheld numbers
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 21:28, 20 replies)

Quite possibly the best 'training porpoises' call of all time
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj2oXMdZ4sk

Now, if that guy didn't put that phone down and promptly, explode, then i don't know what.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 19:09, 1 reply)

Reposted, but relevant.

I worked temporarily as a customer service representative (Phone-monkey) at a certain TV, Cable TV and Internet service provider that was eventually taken over by a company famous for pulling out of b3ta competitions.

The best call I ever got was from a muslim gentleman regarding his cable TV subscription.

He was enquiring why his bill had all of a sudden jumped from £280.00 per month to £420 per month.

Fucking insane, I know but I looked into the reason behind his bills and noted the following: -

Someone had been ordering at least three pay-per-view porn films per night. Fortunately I had full access to all of the details and revealed a few choice titles. Most of the titles were of lesbian (and lets face it, most men!) interest and as the bill payer and account holder he was well within his right to obtain this information.

The best part was sitting there reading through the list of titles that had been ordered. At every point in telephone calls I remain calm and composed, if someone starts screaming and shouting, I remain calm, no-one could have prepared me for what was about to happen. The guy fucking flipped, he was screaming blue murder in his native language and would not stop, he had paid them almost four grand and almost all of this was for pornography. He was for a lack of a better phrase "Not a happy bunny".

I politely explained that if he so desires, we could disable pay-per-view to prevent this in future and this is where he dropped the ultimate bombshell.

He just paid the bill. The actual television was installed in his daughters flat in leicester which she shared with a female housemate whilst studying... oooh thought I... not good!

He hung the phone up and I thought that was it.

A few days later I was dealing with written correspondence and lo and motherfucking behold what did I see...

A letter from a rather unhappy young lady about disclosing what she was watching to her father and revealing her alternative lifestyle.

I went to the account and decided to respond personally, saying in the third person that I had done exactly was required of me, explained that as I was discussing the account with the named party I was more than at liberty to disclose the titles of ordered films.

I still feel a little guilty about this one.
( Muns, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 18:49, 7 replies)

Another one from WLR
When I was working initially on new line provisions, there were about 12 of us serving the whole of the UK and Northern Ireland. Because of this, combined with us doing inbound calls, outbound calls, calls to BT and general stuff, queues were 40 mins minimum. This irated some customers, so I had this customer on call back from another department. This pissed me off greatly because they knew how busy we were.

I read this guy's notes before I called him and softened a bit. A few months earlier, his mum had died, and had to pay the bill late (which he did pay). You know where this is going, don't you?

I thought I'd give him a free telephone line installation, saving him £130. I rang him up to arrange said installation, for two weeks ahead as requested by BT.

He kicked off at me big-style. Screamed at me about how his mum was in hospital and he needed the phone NOW. He was also losing business by not having his broadband, and he would SUE us.

Cue a snarky few remarks about people being brought back from the dead, and as it was a private phone line (we didn't do business), then we were not liable for business losses.

Oh, and I charged him the £130.


When I spoke to my boss about it, it turns out that he'd actually spoken to her about the bill, by being put through to the wrong department. He had sounded distressed about his mum dying, and genuine at the time, all crying and whatnot. The company couldn't give a shit if you pay one month late anyway, as long as you explain.
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 18:26, Reply)

Angry letter #2
...and the other one:

Dear Sir,
Thank you for your letter in response to my letter concerning our conversaton of (date). Upon reading it, and I was particularly struck by the whining, petulant tone you’ve seen fit to adopt in an effort to sound authoritative. Let us leave aside the fact that I have shat more authoritative blood into a filthy gutter, and concentrate instead on just what an unpleasant, unlovable and (most likely) unloved fuck you really are.

The main thrust of your complaint seems to be that, although we warned you of a bug in the software, you didn’t read the warning. Somehow, on the strange and lonely world that you slither around in, this is our fault.

Presumably you also believe that the holocaust was the fault of the Jews for being too Jewish, that the Great Fire of London should be laughed at because most homes were built out of wood, and that the Ken Bigley deserved to have his head cut off because his neck was too tempting to all those delightful terrorists.

Anyway, you think that it’s our responsibility to make you read your emails from us. Well, if that’s the way you want it to go then I’m happy to do so. Of course, you do realise that if you want me to take control of what you read, I’m going to take control of so much more.

In fact, I’m looking forward to making you squat down in your office, in front of all your employees (reality check: every single person who works for you would like you to be raped by angry, AIDS infected wolves) and having a squirty, squelching poo into a big bowl of flour. If I’m feeling particularly mean, I may decide to make you ram your fingers up your secretary’s arse and then shove them down her throat, giggling “Mmmm, BUM PUDDING!” and dressed as a clown.

In other words, you unspeakably pathetic and very small total bastard, take some fucking responsibility for yourself. If you don’t want to read out emails, that’s A-OK. But don’t come squealing like a horse with a spike through the balls when it all goes tits up for you, k? K.

Now please; for my sake, and for the sake of all that is good and pure in the world.

Just.

FUCK.

Off.


Your Sincerely…





* - To the surprise of all students of narrative humour everywhere, I never once accidentally sent out the angry letter to the customer.
(Light, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 18:20, 4 replies)

Angry letter #1
I worked as a customer service manager at a call centre for a while. One of the few things that made the job bearable was getting the foamers transferred to me when they screechingly DEMANDED to speak to a manager.

The standard procedure is to make the appropriate soothing and mollycoddling noises whilst trying to reach a compromise that keeps both company and customer happy. A letter is then sent confirming whatever has been agreed. 9 times out of 10 this works a treat. But those other times...

Sometimes I'd find myself talking to people so balls-out mental and/or apocalyptically unpleasant that I find myself white with fury by the time I've finished talking to them. I probably shouldn't have taken their impotent mewling personally. But I did. So to try and help me deal with this, I used to write two letters for these customers after a call. The second was of the type I mentioned earlier. The first was for me. How so? Well, I'd write down what I actually wanted to say to these self important buckets of fuck-phlegm. I can only find two, but I think you'll get the idea...

Dear Sir,
I had the misfortune of speaking to you today, and listening to your tales of whining and woe. Upon hearing it, I immediately retold it to my Jewish Uncle, a survivor of the holocaust. He fell to his knees in horror, and blanched as he told me that nothing he had experienced, no indignity that he suffered at the hands of the nazi regime as he watched his friends and family butchered, none of this compared to how awful it must have been for you to receive a slightly damaged cd.

Okay, sure; you were able to download what you needed the same day, and were pointed to that download site by a member of our staff whose patience is, it must be said, akin to that of a saint. But…but that damaged cd; dear sweet LORD it must have been traumatic!

So anyway, aside from speaking to you, I also spoke to that cockspawn employee of yours. Tell me the truth; is he an employee? Is he really? Or is he a cackwizard comprised of tramps syphilis and paupers tears, placed on this earth for the sole purpose of making me want to drive my own thumbs into my eyesockets rather than talk to him for more than 5 seconds?

Having spoken to you, I must confess that I found myself wondering; what has driven you to become such a shitty-tonsilled rapeblanket? Is it your looks? Do you have a face like a fat muppet’s cunt? Or is it the desperate, aching lonliness that permeates every single aspect of your loathsome, slithering existence?

Regardless of what it is, I can tell you that we can make the following offer to you by way of compenstation; we will have you killed, buried, dug up, fucked hard, buried again, dug up again, chopped into pieces, eaten, shat out and finally, buried again. I trust that meets with your requirements?

Should you have any further queries, please don’t hesitate to lock yourself in a festival toilet and plunge headfirst into the swamp of effluent and tampons.

Yours etc
(Light, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 18:18, 4 replies)

Never miss out on a good pearoast opportunity...
    I no longer work at this call centre, and don't believe I'll ever work in one again - it's given me a sort of Pavlov's dog-like aversion to the sound of a phone ringing. As you read, you will undoubtably think I am somewhat of a cretin (you are absolutely correct of course), but believe me I was small-fry compared to some of the uber olympic-level wasters on the other end of the line.
   Since it's a bit of an epic pea, I've "re-imagined" some parts, like what shite bands do when they wanna re-release an album, with the added bonus of some heroically wank b-side.
   So here it is, a little window on the world of a Stan James telephone gamble monkey. If you have had a lovely day, all kittens and fwuffies, I would make like a tree and fuck off, it'll only get you down. If you are into your bitter hate-filled diatribes, you're onto a winner...

1. Opening the Call

a) OK, best not to start with the opening gambits of "Would you like my account number?" - no, I'd like to fucking guess it sir - or "Can I have a bet?" - You've. Rung. A. Betline. See, the answers I really want to give to both questions are invariably "no", so just give me your account number and let's get this over with.

b) About that account number. It is six digits long, there is no need to pause after each one. I'm a big boy, I can take it all.

c) Shockingly enough, I need the account information before I can place the bet. If your race is going off, and you are angry that I must ask for said information, there is a simple remedy, RING 20 SECONDS EARLIER YOU LAZY CUNT.

d) Think about the events that are about to transpire, your best course of action. Trackside at the Moto GP? Don't call. Eating food? Don't call. Actually taking an actual shit while we're ACTUALLY talking? What sort of man are you!? Don't call. When all the above criteria are met, and you are somewhere quiet and free from interruption, I can just barely tolerate you. This is as good as it gets.

Sometimes this happens - "You want the account number? *sigh* Hang on I'll just get my card" - this will make my heart hurt. Preparation is the buzzword here, more on this later.

2. Right, We're In

a) Oh, where to start. This is where things begin to go seriously wrong. For starters, don't cut me off during my "Hello Mr Shroodgambler, what can I do for you?" spiel - can't you see I'm being courteous, you fucker.

b) At this point, don't wander off for a conversation with your friend/partner/child. It's crucial we talk, so the important business of betting happens.

c) Now I can't stress this one enough - have some idea of what your bet is before you ring up.

I am not here to hold your hand. I am not here to slip into a dress with you and listen to George Michael. I am not, as the saying goes, a beautiful blonde with big tits and an ass that tastes like vanilla ice cream. So stop trying to fuck me. Trawling through the Botswanan 2nd Division lacrosse prices to find you a filthy 1/3 shot makes me cry actual blood tears.

d) Shouty calls are great. If there's one thing I love, it's repeating every word I say simply because you can't be arsed to leave the pub. Similarly it's brilliant fun when you whisper, due to fear of reprisal from wife/boss/Allah.

e) There are a select band of miscreants who are only allowed to get a bet on when confirmed by the card holder. You know, the type of guy who isn't allowed his own bank account. It is generally "the missus" who does the deed, but there is at least one individual who needs the confirmation of his mum. However, even he was trumped by the chap who needed his prison officer to open the call to explain the legalities of what was about to occur.

3. Bad Bets

a) Too many years gambling, and too long working here, has made me quite snobbish about certain bets. There are a few specifics which I will mention later, but for now, a quick rundown on some of my favourite crap bets. Oooh it's like the chart show isn't it:

- Betting less than a fiver on an odds on shot. Get away from me you gypo, quite frankly.
- Placepots in which you pick every bloody horse running, for 5p stakes.
- Through-the-card forecasts on the dogs. I mean, what leads you to believe trap 1 will beat trap 2 in every. single. race? If you hate money that much, give it to charity.

b) Each way betting is a type of bet used to back long odds. There are two parts to the bet - the win, and the place. Without boring you with too much detail, if you back short odds, you lose money on the place. Anything below 5/1 is a bit silly. So when you go e/w on even money shots and less, my face looks something akin to a bulldog licking piss off a nettle.

c) But we make it hard to just go all out for the win. Myriad bets on a plethora of sports, it can be confusing. But sometimes you just wonder at the thought process of someone putting their cold hard sterling on the assumption there will be over five first half corners in a Belgian League 2 match. Just WHY?

d) I'll lump the rest all in together, as they all tend to come from a very distinct type of customer - the ones we make all the money off.

If you do any of the following -

Back the next fav off without even knowing what it is, when it's off, what sport it's even in.
Ask for what's "in-running" due to the urgent need of betting on something RIGHT NOW.
Ask for the score, get told to ring the results line, then go "Ahh sod it, I'll just have £500 on the short price".
Are unable to pronounce the name of whatever filth you are backing - this one is always a sure sign of the amount of in depth study that has gone into a selection. And don't worry if you can't quite get it, we accept anything from words that sound a bit like the one you're trying to say, to mild racism ("gimme a hundred on that chinky bird")

- any of these, and I will instantly want to ritually slaughter your first born.

4. Things I Don't Need To Know

a) I just need the name of the horse. Dear God. We have this cracking little index thing that means I can just type the fucker in, and everything magically happens. I don't need to know where it's running, who the jockey is, the trainer, what price it was this morning, how it did when it ran out last saturday, what ground it prefers - you might as well tell me its birth mother and date of conception.

b) Personal facts. I don't wanna hear about your life as an accountant for the largest Kellog import/export depot in Europe, about your theory on gay people, whether you've recently shagged a prostitute, the death of all your close family, or how that recent trip to the hospital went.

I'll be blunt, having to hack your voice for one second longer than necessary has me reaching for the staplegun, its destination, MY FACE. I HATE YOU. This is maybe a point I should've raised earlier.

c) Anything else but the bet really. When I give you a price, and you say "but Ladbrokes are doing 3/1!!", what exactly d'you want me to say? Good for them sir!? Just have a bet, or fuck off, is the rule I'm implying.

Also, our company perhaps works differently from those you have encountered previously. Your opinions on our prices/markets/anything else? Quite useless. Utterly without value. I mean that sincerely. If I say something, it's right. If you don't agree, you're wrong. In todays crazy world of asbos and credit crunches, it's nice to see a pure black and white fact.

d) The jokes. Oh the jokes.
"What can I do for you sir?"..."Well, you could find me a winner! hohoho chortle chortle!"
"Would you like 3/1?"..."I'd prefer 20s! hohoho guffaw!"
"D'you do prices for the marathon?"..."Why of course, who were you..."..."Wassa price of the bloke in the diving suit AHAHAHAH CHORTLE LOLZ!!one"

5. Almost Home

a) OK, almost there, but not quite. One of the most crucial parts of the call is about to happen - reading the bet back, and calling "Bet's on". I have to do this. I don't wanna, but I must. So don't talk over the top of me. Don't talk to someone else as I do this, then ask what the bet was again. Don't allow me to go all the way through, dial for the money, strike the bet, then go "Errr, actually I wanted it like this". Just be cool.

b) When I say "Anything else Sir?" that's your cue to get involved, should you want anymore gamble. When you wait until I finish the bet and go "Oh there was something else", my teeth actually curl back on themselves, and reroot into my gums, and blood froths from my mouth. It's a terrible sight.

c) DONT HANG UP ON ME. NOT WHEN IM READING THE BET BACK, NOT AFTER I GIVE YOU A PRICE YOU DONT LIKE, NOT AS IM DIALLING THROUGH, NOT AFTER IVE TAKEN THE FUCKING TIME TO PUT YOUR SHIT FUCKING BET ON AND LISTEN TO URFUCKING INANE TWIITERINGFUCKIN CUNT YOU FUCK ARGJRHG DONT HANGUPVP;]ORGRSLSR DONT. HANGUPSKUDHG[#KJBZE DONTFUCK INHG]DHANG UP CUNTSKU,.;AB;EFKEW. #]. Don't do it.
(bacontrout got ska, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 18:17, 14 replies)

Even though I'm in the phone book, I generally don't hand my number out to third parties.
So I tend not to get cold-callers. And if I do get them, what I normally do is listen to (or at least pretend to listen to) their spiel, then when it's my turn to speak I usually respond with a simple but polite "no thank you" or something similar. After all, it's only taken about 30 seconds, they've got a crappy job to do, and by responding civilly I'm making it a little bit easier for both of us.

However, once in a blue moon you get an arrogant, pushy twat who won't take no for an answer and will stop at nothing till you've bought whatever useless junk or crackpot service their company is hawking, at gunpoint if necessary. I'm normally calm and rational, but this kind of thing really rubs me up the wrong way. Most of the time, I use the standard tactic I've been fobbed off with too many times before ("I'm really busy right now, I'll call you back [several hours later when I'll have forgotten about it]"); this usually guarantees no further response. But a few years ago, my mobile provider were trying to sell me an expensive contract I didn't want or need and they just wouldn't give up, or even let me get a word in edgeways. In the end, after about four such calls in which my responses started lukewarm and steadily froze over, I wound up gritting my teeth and butting into the lad's relentless stream of sales talk with "NoIdon'twantabloodycontractthankyoubye! *click*"

Cold-callers of the world, feel free to try and sell things, but if it's not my cup of tea please don't try and shove it down my throat. The same goes for fashion, religion and lifestyle choices.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 17:46, 1 reply)

Where I work there are two phone lines
each is connected to a phone at opposite ends of the office. Sods law being what it is they often ring at around the same time. I was quite pleased with myself by perfecting the art of answering them both, by asking one person to hold while sliding my office chair across the room and picking up the other phone in one smooth movement.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 17:20, 2 replies)

Legless has worked in call centres and provided us with many entertaining tales over the years
So can we all help him (or rather, his friend's daughter) with this please?
Some of you will have seen this on OT or /links - I hope I'm not out of order by plonking it here too. Story is in the link.

www.b3ta.com/links/A_Friend_Of_A_Friend
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 16:54, 11 replies)

Aaaargh!
Argh, argh, aaah, fuck you, FUCK YOU ALL! Fucking telephone fucking, fuck, I, OH FOR THE LOVE OF, this is totally bloody- no, no, no, listen, AAARGH!
(Frozen_Banana Shaved against the grain; thoroughly unrewarding., Mon 7 Sep 2009, 16:50, 1 reply)

Call centres are FUN places to work...
Management sent down an order Gestapo-style: The workplace must be FUN! Fucking cunts... Got no idea how soul destroying plugging into the Matrix is for eight hours a day taking shit from shits in an attempt to sell them shit can be.

But, being a team leader and all that but also an incredibly lazy bastard, I asked the team for FUN suggestions in the next team meeting. Someone said that the top sales bod should get to wear a hat for the whole day on Friday. Woo... Fuck it, that'll do.

So one of the team brought in a hat that said AMSTERDAM on the front of it. Nice bright orange fucker with windmills and a lady dressed up in traditional costume. Ugly as sin, but would do the trick.

The office manager was impressed. After a few weeks of this Friday fun he actually came down from his shining pedastal, surrounded by angels and cherubs, glowing a radiant gold in the immense light of his own ego, and asked the twat in my team, Mike, who was top sales dog and therefore bestowed with the honour, the privilage, the incredible accolade of wearing the fucking thing what he thought about the FUN!!!

Mike said without any sense of FUN whatsoever: "Well, as Spanky says - you know you've had a successful Friday if your head's been rubbing against a Dutch cap for eight hours straight..."

The manager-fella never bothered with my team much after that.
( SpankyHanky, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 16:17, 1 reply)

Just a quicky...
I've just started work for a new start-up in Cambridge, and as all start-ups go they're pretty liberal meaning we have an open-plan office.

This means I can overhear calls made, one particular gem today - a recruiter tried to get through to the VP. He managed it and got got a verbal dressing down by the VP when the truth was discovered.

How did he get past the HR manager and the receptionist?

"Hi, I'm Jim - {{VP's}} long lost son, can i please speak to {{VP}}".
( Axai is in Montréal, Canada O.o, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 16:08, 1 reply)

Time wasting
So I was unemployed for a while. If you are home a lot during the day, you get a lot of cold callers. I was bored a lot so would find more interesting ways of getting them to hang up on me. I would do stuff like eating crisps loudly, pretending to be unable to understand English ("Sorry mate, I don't speak English. No, no-one else here does, at least, not last time I checked. No, I really haven't got a clue what you're saying. Seriously, I can't speak English") and the like.

But my absolute favourite was, upon being asked if I had ten minutes to participate in a survey, replied "Depends, would I have to stop masturbating while I do it?" Remarkably, the bloke hung up straight away.
(ScousersPet, Mon 7 Sep 2009, 15:51, 3 replies)