I despise telemarketers.
As soon as internet was available through my cable TV provider I ditched the home phone. I loved it because my wife and I both had cell phones and telemarketers aren't supposed to call your cell. for 10 years I never had to worry about telemarketer calls until one day...

My cable Tv / internet provider decided to start offering home phone service as well and thought that they needed to call me once a month to offer it to me. Every time they called I told them the same thing. "I don't want a home phone because I don't want jerks like you calling me and trying to sell me things i don't want. You are in effect trying to sell me on telemarketing calls with a telemarket call." I ask to be removed from their phone list and they tell me they have but one month later I get the same call.

Finally I went to my cable provders office and asked to have my phone number changed as I had given them my cell number when I signed up. When they asked for my new number I gave them the number that the telemarketers kept calling me from.

Problem solved. Now when they try to call me they ring themselves up!
(emuman cant afford PS so he beats MSPaint into submission, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 19:55, 3 replies)

Call centres
Ive worked in a couple and quite frankly would rather french kiss a rabid warthog than ever work in one again.
They also do seem to be halfway houses for out of work actors.
On one shift I was the only person who I hadnt seen on Casualty or some soap or other.
My supervisor was a misogynistic twunt who could barely bring himself to talk me without sneering.
He then went on to to appear in a rather famous long running BBC comedy.
I have this thought that one day I'll bump into him and be able to say 'Oh I recognise you'
Watch him preen, and then I'll say , 'oh yes we worked together in that call centre'
;)

Then there was the man who seemed to be enjoying our conversation a little too much.
I signalled the supervisor who logged in to to overhear, I'm trying to keep a straight face as she got redder and redder and was motioning if I wanted to end the call?
But I had a quota to hit and and a satisfactory conclusion was reached in the end.

length
about 3 minutes
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 19:40, 5 replies)

They're human too, y'know!
In my profession I call folks in call centres every day. As these folks speak with ungrateful shopkeepers and tradesmen all day, I like to try and liven their lives up a bit. Just yesterday I had to call some folks to place a very large order. The ordering took ages as the poor guy was obviously new, so I decided to spice things up a little.

Halfway through the call I asked:

Me: "Who would win the following battle: A shark on wheels or a polar bear with a lightsabre?"
Him: "Hmm. The polar bear, I think."

Ordering plumbing supplies resumed until ten minutes later:

Me: "What about this one? HMS Ark Royal or Katie Price's vag?"
Him: "Katie Price's vag. Definitely. It's unstoppable."

Class act, that man.
(ElectricMonk is falling awake on, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 19:33, 5 replies)

I love my energy provider.
One day, the phone rings and I pick it up. There is a long dead pause.

Automated voice: This is. An Automated call. On behalf of [company name]. If. This is. The. Residence. Of Mr. [my name], please Press. The Star. Button.

I obligingly press the star button.

Automated voice: Thank you. Please hold. While we connect you. To an advisor.

So they got a robot to call me up just so they could then put me on hold. Genius.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 19:17, 2 replies)

Telephone Preference Service
What's the point of that then?

I used to be plagued by cold callers at my last address, think somehow I'd managed to get myself on the list of biggest mugs or somesuch. I signed up to the TPS and it made absolutely fuck all difference. Turns out there are about 20 companies who agree not to call people on the TPS list and about 20 million who couldn't give a fuck if you're on the list or not.

I don't get any cold callers at my present address, lived here three years now, well, apart from BT, Sky and Barclays Bank but then I am a customer. My advice is never to give out your details by sending off for any free offers/competitions in magazines, packaging or on the net, you'll end up on the biggest mugs list if you do.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:56, 9 replies)

Press 1
My mate once called the Guinness helpline number on the back of the can, the conversation went roughly as follows:

Mate: Hi I'm wondering if it's OK to drink my Guinness now?
Guinness: Sorry Sir, I don't get you.
Mate: Well it says on the can to chill for an hour before drinking.
Guinness: Yes sir that's correct.
Mate: Well, I've been in the garden chilling for 45mins and am a bit bored so want to know if that's long enough or not?



(Kip, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:50, 2 replies)

My first ever customer
I spent a week being trained to work in a call centre before landing a real job. The first time I was sent out "live", with someone next to me to monitor my call, I got a Scouser.

"I want to cancel my credit agreement and this freezer"
"Okay, sir. Can I have the details..."
etc...

As this goes on, and I'm filling in boxes, he keeps chatting.

"I'm doing this because me fiancee's gone and dumped me and I can't afford repayments"
"Erm.. sorry to hear that, sir"
"I mean, I get this job, but then I'm spending too much time there..."
"Er.. right, let me just call up this screen..."
"... and so she goes and shags me best mate and tells me all the details"

AND THEN HE STARTS THE BIG, WEEPY, SNOTTY CRYING DOWN THE PHONE WHILE TELLING ME THE REST OF THE SORRY TALE! I'm desperately trying to get the right screen up, solve this problem and get him the fuck of the line!

Finally, I cancel his deal and say details are in the post etc..

"Ta, lad. You've been the kindest guy I've talked to in the past month"

My trainer, who is meant to jump in any time I am clearly struggling? Pissing herself with laughter at this guy's life and my clear discomfort so much that she couldn't take over.
( Rev. A-MOL is lurking around these parts again, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:49, Reply)

Got an odd one the other day...
"Hello, could I speak to a Mr Mole?"
"Speaking."
"Please ignore this call."
*Dial tone*
(HarryTheMole whatever's on my finger is going in your mouth, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:48, 1 reply)

Illegal Music
I answered the phone at work at some point last year, to a man telling me that I needed to buy a radio broadcast license if I wanted to allow my employees to listen to music.

I was bored, and this prick was annoying me, so I decided to go along with it. I told him we did in fact have some music, but that it was the BT "on hold" music provided with our BT Switchboard.

The moron said "you will need a license for that then, it broadcasts"...at which point I told him I didn't believe the music was protected. He asked me for the name of all the tracks, and instead I told him to take a listen for himself, and proceeded to put him on hold on a phone in the IT room (unstaffed).

I thought nothing more of it and expected him to give up. Except....about an hour later our automated holding system took him off hold and back to my phone....he will still there, and claimed he had listened to each piece and was happy it was all unprotected. He then thanked me for my time.

He lost an hour of his life...and I felt great!
(cronus89, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:46, 5 replies)

Oddest call centre call I'd answered
was some woman who cold-called me mum's house trying to sell me mum a carpet over the phone.

A carpet. What the fuck?

Unfortunately I'd answered the phone in a stupid voice too and had to keep it up for the rest of the call. Basically I pretended to be an arab who had just had his house burnt down, so I asked her to ring me back in a week to give me a chance to sort the insurance out first. She actually sounded excited too bless.

Which bright cunt come up with the idea of setting up a call centre specifically designed to sell carpets over the phone? "I'll take that one.....does it feel fuzzy? Oh, and is the pattern curly?" Fucking hell....
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:25, Reply)

My first job in a smallish technical helpdesk
I was on a call to a particularly surly gentleman with a particularly surly problem (the details escape me now,) as I frantically tried to Google my way to the relative freedom of the next call I got somewhat lost in reading up MSDN articles and consequently lost in thought.

As a result I had forgotten that I had not in fact put him on mute so he wouldn't hear me muttering in thought and he was still listening waiting for me to deliver a magical solution out of my Google shaped tech-anus, when a particularly attractive red head who had just joined walked past into the next office section.

Enchanted by her lithesome figure, resplendant beauty and how just by walking by me she had brought a real ray of sunshine to a typically drab day I broke out into the opening bars of Stevie Wonders "Isn't She Lovely."

I got about 2 lines in before a stern voice barked out "I'd prefer if you didn't sing to me."
( Marty McFly can't grate cheese without getting angry, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:11, 4 replies)

When you spend big money...
I frequently have to deal with a variety of call centers in my day to day work - but the best has got to be the drop in service I have seen from a fruit based mobile service.

Now I was lucky enough to get wind of the ability to cancel my contract with said company whilst keeping the very brand new and shiny BB device they'd sent me through. I was happy with this and that I would be drastically reducing my monthly overheads as I barely used the device. (not even touching one tenth of my 4 million minutes a month etc etc).

Now what I didn't realise - is that all of those lovely call centers, with their helpful fast answering staff I was used to have now gone. So I am back with the rat pack on pay as you throw - the call centers are awful, they don't understand me, the follow scripts so painstakingly tedious I have resorted to cutting the circulation into my hand with ever tightened elastic bands.

But what really got my goat. Above all and else, not the outsourcing, not the scripts, not the strong accents. But the fact they out and out lie to you and I have the disservice of paying for these lies.

I have however reached the point of using a spoon to gouge out my eyes trying to deal with tax offices... they really were something else.
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 18:07, Reply)

I used to work for BT as a '100' operator.
Because we took the bulk of our calls from one area (South and West London) we would get the occasional 'regular'. One such 'regular' was obviously an old lonely guy, in his 70's I guess, we'll call him Frank.

Frank had a bit of a liking for tall young men as I would discover on one of my first days working there. With a senior operator sitting beside me, listening in on my calls, giving advice, yada-yada, he called.

"Operator services, how may I help?" my polite pre-recorded salutation enquired, "Oh!" Frank excitedly exclaimed "...you sound like a tall young man!". I sat there briefly, bemused and confused... I 'SOUNDED' like I was 'TALL'!? How did that work exactly? what the fuck was he on about? had I misheard him? Was it just his unconventional way of starting the conversation politely? I looked over to my helper with eyes full of 'HELP!'... But, he was doing his best to not piss himself laughing. Anyway, that was the first of many of my encounters with Frank. Over the many months I worked there I became more at ease with his uncomfortable blend of telecommunication based homosexual lechery, as it came as a welcome break from the usual monotony of reverse charge and "Sorry ta bovva yoo but I put a paand in da pay fown and it wont let me call, can i have a 1 minute free call please" calls.

Over time I realised that if you acted professionally towards Frank, politely ignoring his perverse enquiries, he would bid you farewell asap... Whereas, If you said the right thing, what you knew he wanted to hear - then... well then fun could be had. Then one day about an hour before the end of my shift - he called. My decision was swift - I would lead him on like the man-whore I had always wanted to be... although not towards old men. I would do it in the most polite, most unsackable and, most importantly, least OMG-I-feel-dirtier-than-a-festival-portaloo way I possibly could.

Me - Operator services, how may I help?
Frank - Oh hello, you sound like a tall young man!
Me - Well yes, I'm actually 7'4".
Frank - I bet you've got big hands. (another of his typical pervy enquiries)
Me - Heh, yeah I do actually... And because I'm so tall I used to play a lot of basketball, I was quite good.
Frank - Hmmm, I bet you could pick me up.
Me - Yeah, I suppose I could... I'm pretty strong being my size.

At this point I knew I had him, I'd won his trust. Also, some of my fellow operators nearby had overheard my replies (7'4", big hands, pretty strong) and so knew who I was talking to. They offered smiles and nods of encouragement - which worked. Any thought of pulling out in a mind-bleach induced moment of cowardliness melted away in an instant. Frank continued:

Frank - ......... Have you ever had your bottom spanked?
Me - Yeah, you know... If i was naughty when I was a kid my dad would give me a smack on the bum, I guess I deserved it.
Frank - ........ Have you ever been spanked on your bare bottom?
Me - I guess so. If I had been naughty in the bath, you know, I would've got a smack on the bare bum.

For me, now, this was uncharted territory. The nods and smiles of my fellow operators had turned to grins of WTFLOL-ishness. The conversation continued:

Frank - I bet you could lift me out of the bath!
Me - Sure I could, I think it's important to help fellow members of your community, like you, get in and out of the bath.
...
[pause]
...
Frank - Would you spank me on my bare bottom?
Me - Haha, sure I'd spank your bum, I'm game for a laugh... Its just a bit of innocent fun isn't it.
...
[pause]
...
Frank - You sound like you have a big penis!

At this point, my nerve broke. I "couldnae take it any more cap'n" and decided to cash in my winnings from the telephonic fruit machine of the pervy old man. My voice this time was curt:

Me - How can you tell I have a large penis just from the sound of my voice?
Frank - Erm... I have to go now, bye. [click]

The smiles and nods which had surrounded me, which had turned to grins, had now transformed into sniggers and pfffff's. I had sailed the seas of homoerotic perversion, travelled over the horizons of decency, and had come back unscathed with tales of the most sickening beast imaginable. Ultimately, I had also gone as close as I would ever hope to wanking off a 70 year old bloke.

Maybe you think this is a bit of an anti-climax to the story - but that was the whole point. I didn't want to be there to hear the guttural moans of his vinegar stroke! ...or did I?


( mr.dogshit The world's premier anthropomorphic canine faeces, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 17:58, 5 replies)

Media sales call targets
Used to work for a company whose name was not entirely dissimilar to FMap, who were generally okay, but obsessive about monitoring everything. Number of calls, length of calls, etc etc.

We rapidly learnt to inflate our average call times by calling NHS recorded advice lines (e.g. Syphilis) before going out to lunch, and discreetly putting the phone back down so it didn't hang up.

All was well until one muppet did this before going on holiday, and we were all rumbled. CURSES **shakes puny fist**
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 17:52, Reply)

The other way around, but...
I had a phone call from an Indian guy called 'Steve'. He works for a market surveying company and would spend his day in an office full of other Indians with English names asking anybody that didn't hang up questions about their lifestyle and spending habits. Anyway, I hate cold callers and especially those that keep pushing so they get their commission after I've agreed to take the survey.

Steve : Hello, mynameissteve. howareyoutoday? [that's how he sounded - all the words in one long drawl]
Downhill : Bit busy. Got kids to see to.
Steve : Thatisverynice. Now I ask you some questions. Do you own your home?
Downhill : Sorry, what's this about??

[bloke starts to talk about marketing offers, discounts and prize draw.]

Downhill: Go on then.
Steve : Do you own your own home?
Downhill : Yes
Steve : Are you considering replacing any windows in the near future?
Downhill : No point. I'm blind
Steve : What?
Downhill : I've had them all bricked up as I can't see through them anyway. Keeps the house warmer, too.
Steve : Oh, sorry to hear that. Are there any cars in the household?

[what?]

Downhill : I'm not allowed to drive.
Steve : Sorry to hear that sir.
Downhill : because I'm blind. I'd crash.
Steve : Sorry to hear that sir.
Downhill : I have a motorbike
Steve : And is the insurance due for renewal in the next few months?
DOwnhill : I can't ride it - I'm blind.
Steve : Sorry to hear that sir.

[awkward pause as Steve skips through that chapter of his text]

Steve : do you read any of the following publications - Daily Mail, The Sun, The....
Downhill : I would love to be able to read all off them, but I can't
Steve : Oh, sorry to...
Downhill : ...because I'm blind
Steve : Oh, sorry to hear that sir

[pause]

Steve : Do you have a television in the house?
Downhill : Yes. Somewhere.
Steve : Hmm?
Downhill : I can't find it. I'm blind.
Steve : SO you don't watch it?
Downhill : Of course, not. I'm blind.
Steve : Do you know where your tv is?
Downhill : Yes. It;s in the lounge
Steve : Ok....Do you have any pets?
Downhill : ... I have a dog.
Steve : [relieved that he found something I have in the house] what food does the dog normally have?
Downhill : He doesn't have a regular thing to eat. It varies every day.
Steve : Oh. Is that a medical reason?
Downhill : No. I'm blind and can't read the labels. He's had baked beans 3 times this week.
Steve : Sorry to hear that sir.

[pause as Steve looks for the next section of questions]

Downhill : Is this going to take long?
Steve : Er. no just one more section. What sports do you play?
Downhill : Downhill cycle racing
Steve : And do you do this once a day, once a week or once a month, for example
Downhill : Only done it once.
Steve : You've only started recently?
Downhill : No - but the only time i tried it I hit a tree because I'm blind

[pause]

Steve : You're not really blind are you?
Downhill : And you're not really called Steve are you?
[click!]



Honestly, the conversation went on a lot longer than you took to read it AND I've spared you some of the sections. Honestly, when they have a script to read and they get paid to read it, they pull out all the stops to get it done!

I never apologise for length. I'm lucky to have any.
(downhill without brakes . It was the worst day of my life, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 17:41, 11 replies)

Annoying Caller Habits, #61; Lying bastards who try to get special treatment by being lying bastards.
Not *quite* a call-centre story, but it does involve me answering the phone at work and speaking to a bell-end, so hopefully it's allowed. I used to work for a lovely small web design company which, because of its micro-size and low prices, attracted more than its fair share of mentals. This meant we hosted a lot of bizarre sites for odd businesses and fruitloop groups.

One customer asked for a website which he would use to provide information to the masses. We built it for him at a bargain price. Once it was online, he asked for the FTP details so that he could change bits himself. For the less-techie reader, this is like selling someone a puppy and then allowing them to deal with fleas themselves by providing them with a hammer. The boss agreed however, taking care to point out that any changes he made would invalidate the warranty.

A month later, the phone rang. The customer had decided to install a forum on his site, made an almighty bum-up of the security settings and was now stuck with a website which included a comprehensive directory of links to WAREZ sites, replica Rolex dealers and cock-pill salesmen. He wanted us to fix it. For free.

"Sorry, but we didn't add that to your site so I can't help" I explained.
"But you built the site!" he argued.
This went on for five minutes, him telling me we were responsible and me explaining that we couldn't just fix any old crap he decided to plop onto his site.
Eventually, he decided to play his persuasion trump card.
"Well, it's a shame you won't help me. And to think I was about to place a big order with you for twenty brand-new top-spec PCs, laser-jet printers, projectors and a network. I suppose I'll have to go somewhere else now"

How foolish I felt. I'd just blown a big-money deal with someone whose website was created to warn you that you should wrap yourself in tinfoil so that the government couldn't read your mind.

On the plus side, it meant we didn't have to try and convince our suppliers to accept payment of three bin-bags of bottle-tops and a handful of warm shit.
(costas, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 17:00, 3 replies)

Lazy Olembe meets lazy Susan
This is not really about call centres, but it's close enough.

A friend of mine used to work for a small but respected software company which wrote professional sound-editing software. They offered 24-hour tech support via a phone line which was routed through to a mobile, which was always in the hands of one product expert or another.

One evening I got invited along to a meal with a bunch of the company bigwigs, who happened to be at a show in Amsterdam at the same time my friend and I were in that city. We were in a Chinese restaurant, sitting round a large circular table with a huge revolving lazy Susan in the middle. The MD pulled the mobile out of his pocket, plopped it on the lazy Susan and announced that whenever a tech support call came through that evening, whoever was next to the phone when it rang had to deal with the problem.

Sure enough, every single time the phone rang it was next to me - the one person at the table who knew bugger all about their products. EVERY TIME. Still, as they were standing me a free meal the least I could do was have a go at solving their customers' problems. Apparently turning Windows computers off then on again really does solve a lot of problems...
( Olembe Refuses to write in this space, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 16:53, Reply)

Had myself a 'teleappointing' role at a company doing just that
It's basically a thinking man's telesales - all you're doing is being employed indirectly by Company A - generally insurance or banking - to call people up and arrange appointments where you could, for people who actually knew what they were doing.

One will always stick in my mind. Every now and then, particularly for a big client - you'd get a proper household name company come up. I got Sky. Nothing wrong with this, I'd gotten an appointment with Wilkinson's the other week, it does happen. I had a quick scan, not paying much attention, as you're prone to do in a mind-numbing, head-reaming fucker of a job like this. So I called the number, and introduced myself to the gatekeeper, as they're called in the industry. Then I read the name out, and the gatekeeper laughed at me and said he was out of the office. The name? James Murdoch. :(
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 16:41, Reply)

As a student back in '97 and '98 I had the rather dubious pleasure of working in two call centres to earn a few more beer tokens.
This story revolves around the first place - The Bolton HQ of The 'Great Universal' Home Shopping Catalogue, (also ran the Kays catalogue and Marshall Ward) which was conveniently located directly opposite the Halls of Residence. The work there was (as you may expect) pretty mundane and repetetive, not to mention somewhat depressing when you got a 'ranter' on the other end of the line. It was also eye opening as I'll go into in a moment. However, there are three 'stories' I immediately remember when I read this week's title.

1.) The Funny Name.
All of the calls are scripted via computers in front of us. All we had to do was read, interpret, connect with the customer and then persuade them part with cash and order something from the catalogue. However, nothing can prepare you for what comes up on your screen when the call connects to a customer, the first thing you saw on the screen was the first part of your script to the customer:
"Hello, is this Mr./Mrs. (insert name here)"

Sadly, I never got to speak to Mrs. W. Ankers for long as I (and the immediate colleagues around me) cracked up when the name popped up on the screen, and I had to hang up on her. Sorry Mrs. W

2.) The Answerphone Message.
During some of the more routine work in calling customers of the catalogue, we were often put onto 'special offer' duty, whereby we would ring, speak to the customer and give them a 'special' code which would offer them a 5%/10% credit on their next order, or something similar. When the customers didn't pick up the phone and it diverted to answerphone, we then had to leave the special code on their machines.
A few of us had fun with this part and regularly selected a 'theme' for the shift, which all codes had to relate to.
I remember particularly the 'Star Wars' shift, where every letter of the special 'code' had to have a Star wars connection. Ben, a rather 'goofy' colleague had no fear, and proudly kept leaving messages such as:
"... And remember, Mrs. Spencer, if you do place an order, remember to use your special order code of XYM2W. That's X for X Wing Fighter, Y for Yavin IV, M for 'May the Force be with you', 2 as in R2D2 and W, as in Wookiee (with added Wookiee noise from Ben)

What the people made of it when they picked up their message we'll never know, but I hope it made some of them smile.

3.) The swearing sweepstakes,
This could only occur a few times a week during shifts, and only in the evening shifts - 5.30pm to 9pm as it could only happen during the time when Coronation Street and Eastenders was on the TV. Only then could you guarantee the best possible chance of getting a punter to swear at you over the phone for daring to ring them up while they were watching their hallowed soap opera with the same fervor as a minor religion.

The idea was simple. Before the shift everyone chips a quid or so in a pot, and the person who collects the most swearwords, or the most original insult in the half hour period wins the pot.
Ben - again - enjoyed this, and on one occassion even stood up in the middle of the packed call centre (around 250+ people) proudly exclaiming to us all 'I've just got a Motherf*cker'!

And finally: The nasty side of the business.
I eventaully got 'promoted' up to the dizzying heights of Debt Recovery. A more soul destroying area of Call Centre work you could not possibly imagine. You couldn't speak with spouses or anyone close, only the customer directly. This often proved difficult because in many cases, the customer (usually the wife/girlfriend) hid the catalogue from the partner, or told them they got rid of it, so when we ring up asking to speak directly to them, we were often met with volleys of abuse and cries of 'she got rid of that f*cking catalogue months ago because I took it off her' or being asked directly to tell them what she had been doing, which of course we couldn't. It was not an easy ride, and some of the partners were so angry you often wondered what was going to happen when the customer got back home.

Probably worse than that was when you did actually get through to the client though, as they nearly ALL knew how to play the system. Back then, if they were in a reasonable amount of debt with the catalogue, we would suggest via the phone call an amount they should pay to clear the debt over weeks/months or even many years in some cases. This would often be countered with 'But I can only offer to pay you £5 per week as that's all I can afford'
At the time, we were legally obliged to accept this, irrespective of the total debt, as £5 was the minimum amount for such an offer which had to be accepted. (Hopefully this has changed now)

And you may wonder what the highest debt by a single punter on Catalogues I personally dealt with was, well wonder no more. It was around £78,000... And what response did I get?

You guessed it, '£5 a week'
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 16:35, 4 replies)

Los Angeles Times
I get called quite often asking if I'd like to subscribe to the Los Angeles Times.
No, no I don't want to. Why? Because I get the Orange County Register. And why am I not interested in the LA Times? Because I live in Orange County, not LA, not even LA County, but a town about 40 miles south of LA.
No, no, I'm still not interested.
*hangs up*
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 16:28, 1 reply)

Have a phone suppprt related pea whilst I gather my thoughts

I have little day to day contact with children
but one instance that does stick in the mind happened a few months ago.

I was at my desk wading through technical inquiries when my desk phone rang. I picked it up and answered it. I was greeted with a small querulous voice of a boy or about 11 or 12 years of age.

BOY "Err, my father owns a pair of your *********** loudspeakers (name removed to protect my anonymity) (£3500) and the tweeter has been dinged, is a replacement available and how much is it?

ME "Could you define *dinged*?"

BOY "Well it had a football hit it and crumple the front quite badly."

ME (imagining the limb numbing panic that is likely coursing through his veins) "I see. Looking at the parts list here, I have them in stock- its £260 plus shipping. The chances are that the dealer will need to fit it however."

BOY- in tiny voice. "Oh."

And with that he starts to cry.

ME- "Am I to assume that your father isn't aware of the damage and probably had some strong views about footballs in the vicinity of his hifi?"

BOY- "He's back tomorrow- oh God he's going to kill me."

ME- "Generally parents don't kill their offspring."

BOY- "You don't understand, he loves those speakers. There must be something you can do."

ME- "Do you have any money at all?"

BOY- "I have £40 as an allowance for the holidays."

ME "And where are you?"

BOY "I'm in *****" (As it turned out, not a million miles from a dealer friend of mine).

Pause

ME "OK- This is what I am going to do as I have been in this position myself. I am going to ship the part free. I am going to contact a friend of mine where I suspect the speakers came from and he will come and fit the part. You are going to have to give him the £40. This will mean it is a very expensive game of football but you may escape with your life. There is one other thing you will have to do though."

BOY- *sniffs* What is it?

ME- "You're going to have to tell your Dad what happened."

BOY- "But, but he doesn't have to find out."

ME- "But then however there would be no repercussions and no lesson learned. In telling him, you can show that through creative thinking- and crying, you got the problem sorted at your expense."

BOY- "How would you know if I don't?"

ME- "I have your name and house address. I can check. Besides your Dad will ask where the £40 went."

BOY- "Oh."

Details were confirmed and my friend went and fitted the tweeter the following morning. Some days later a package with letter arrived from the boy's father.

Dear Mr Hatred,
Just a quick note to say I received ****'s blubbing confession as per your instructions on my return. I was sufficiently impressed at his ingenuity to spare his life although he is unlikely to see daylight again in 2008.

Enclosed is further proof of a satisfactory resolution to this unfortunate event.

Regards
X

It was a popped football.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 16:09, 14 replies)

Phone Monkeys are People too...
I've been raising a slight chuckle at the stories of 'call centre baiting'. There was a time when I used to do the same thing, and then I tried doing the job.

I was about 16, I'd been looking at jobs *everywhere* and eventually stumbled upon an ad for work in a local double glazing company. After an evening's 'training' (which mainly involved listening in to calls that someone else was making) I was let loose with a book of phone numbers and told to get dialing (this was before the days of computers and posh NASA-style headsets.)

This is probably a good time to tell you that, in the whole 5 months I stuck it out, I managed two (count them) sales. One of those was to my own father. I was constantly being hounded by the boss to sell more or I'd have my hours cut. I was already only working 3 hours a day, for 4 days a week (on less than the minimum wage). I was lucky if I was earning £20 or £30 a week (and most of that was spent on my bus fares there and back).

There was only one person who made any money out of this job. I can't remember his name, but I'll call him 'Gary'. Gary worked afternoon *and* evening shifts and was an immoral bastard. He would put anyone who showed even the slightest interest down for a visit from the men in vans (thus ensuring he got paid commission) whether they wanted one or not. Every now and again you get people who want you to call them back in a few days (after being on holiday, or when the kids were back at school or something) to discuss their double-glazing needs. We were told in very strict terms that these had to be written down on a form and stuck in a filing cabinet by date. This ensured that, when you went to collect the form and call them back, Gary had already called them earlier in the day (when you weren't in work) and arranged it in his name. He had a decent wage packet and a wall full of 'best sales figures' certificates, and I had naff-all.

As you can imagine, I was having a pretty miserable time. Being told to 'fuck off' or worse several times a night, or wound up by some 'hilarious' knuckle-dragger from the local council estate (knowing full well that you can't even think about swearing back at them, for fear of having the (recorded) call used against you and being sacked) didn't do much to improve my mental state.

Eventually I couldn't take any more and I walked. I wish I'd done it months earlier.



Yes, cold calls are a pain in the arse... but please consider the fact that the person calling you may well be just as pissed off as you are.



(P.S. Just as an indication of how desperate this job is, a rival double glazing company even made an effort to 'poach' me. I'll write that one up later, if anyone actually gives a monkey's...)
(mellotron never could get the hang of Thursdays, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:59, Reply)

Wanking! Devils! Animals! Phones!
The best part about speaking to people across the world is the comedy names. Here's a few of my favourites (all genuine).

Iver Koch
Mr Kunt
Maroun Seeman
Mrs Donkey
Wayne King
Wan King
Mr Fock
Captain Gupta
Mr Pornsack
Gotthard Balls
Mr Shythaus
Mr Wankmueller
Mr Fukyuemann
Mr Swinkles
Manmeet Bangar
Iona Weenie
Mr Satan
Max Gerth
Fani Zulu
Humphrey Bumfries
Hong Cheong Ong
Mr Looney
Ashit Jainer
Mrs A Hoel

There are many more, and I shall update this as regularly as I can... Mr Kunt was wonderful. You'd phone him up and there'd be this really gruff "Kunt!" by way of answer. I laughed a lot whenever I called him, and passed his number to friends so they could join in the fun.

Also company names. My current favourites are

Hatlapa
Outer Ring Exploration
International Expertise for Wood
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:53, 13 replies)

A bit off topic...
But giving us a three-word subject line and then the phrase "enough said" as the main message isn't, your claim not withstanding, enough.

Thank you for your attention.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:52, 9 replies)

Swine Flu Call Centre....
Enough said really
(timewarper, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:36, 4 replies)

Guy I know worked for NTL
and had just cut service to someone who hadn't paid their bill.

"But," whines the chav on the other end of the phone, "what would you do if you didn't have a telly?"

He responds, honestly, that he doesn't and he reads books instead.

The chav complained. He got a written warning.

Apparantly people don't like being told that watching Big Brother isn't a human right.
(razakel, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:35, 1 reply)

I'm slightly annoyed
that this couldn't have been next week's QOTW since tomorrow I start work on a telethon (which for my purposes is as good as a call-centre- ringing up rich old men and women and begging them to give money to the rich old college that nurtured them during their formative years.) However in the hopes that I will have a true, funny story of my own before the QOTW comes to an end, I give you one thing that happened to someone I know.

(1) We are supposed to offer other ways of donating, such as in wills and bequests etc near the end, and once my friend had got through most of their spiel, she was politely informed that the person she was phoning had terminal cancer. There was a deadly hush as she pondered what to say, and eventually on auto-pilot she blurted out that it was possible to donate after death.
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:35, 4 replies)

Shouting! Slave-driving! Piss-taking! Moolah!
Serious post first, then the comedy ones to follow (and I expect there to be a whole load, based on my last 7 and a half years of employment).

I am a call centre sales manager. I have responsibility for a load of business per annum, and a few employees in my team. I work in outbound b2b advert sales.

I fucking love it.

It's pressured, foul-mouthed, hectic, stressful, long hours (I'm in from 0515 until 1600), anarchic, and it's a scream. The people I work with are all good company (with one or two exceptions) and I love going in.

Sure, if you can't take having the piss taken out of you, if you cry when you get yelled at, if you like Health and Safety and Political Correctness, and if you want to ponce around doing nothing and talking about EastEnders sure, you'll hate it.

But an assertive, busy and successful outbound business sales call centre? Ace. Especially on my money and bonuses these days!

Although inbound call centres are for retards who can't think for themselves. They're soul-destroying; merely abstract production lines for the hard of thinking and low of earning. No wonder the service you get from them is rubbish.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 3 Sep 2009, 15:33, 2 replies)