The AA
It is impossible to get through to AA customer services. They are always experiencing unexpectedly high call volumes and far too busy taking emergency calls from stranded motorists etc so please call back later.

Well thats a paradox isnt it? How long can they unexpectedly experience high call volumes if thats the permanent position? Surely after a few years of high call volumes, they're not really unexpected.

Also, it implies the staff who perform admin and customer service, also appear to take the emergency calls.

So Mr AA, get some fucking staff. And cancel my subscription please. You can gaz me for my account details.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:51, 7 replies)

If you want to speak to a person, rather than dance with the telephone devil...
Don't press any buttons.

Systems are designed with touch-tone dialing telephones in mind, but all of them have to be backwards-compatible with the old pulse-dialing phones. If the detect a lack of tone options after a set time, they'll automatically put you through to an operator.

Alternatively, call the landline rather than the 0870-type number. The landlines aren't connected to the complicated routing and queuing software.

How do you get these numbers?

www.saynoto0870.com lets you search for them all - you can call using your free minutes on a landline or mobile, and not have to queue up.

Oh, also, T-Mobile are cunts - but that's a less useful story full of bitter vitriolic, unfounded data charges and a team leader who needs to be hit in the face with a wrench four or five times.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:49, 2 replies)

Sodding systems
Where i work we use BT for out phones and internet.

I personally dislike BT for their terrible service. They are over priced and under spec'd. I moved into a house where they went thru BT for internet 2 meg connecttion (for a bout 20 minutes) with a 5GB restriction for the £24.99 a month SHITE!!! I digress.

As i said we use them at work. And have been cut off more times than i care to count because they have numerous systems that don't speak to each other and say different things. Idiots. The most recent one was when the internet went down, as i am the IT monkey (it is a restaurant as i know what USB means i know manage the IT side of things) i phoned them up. Automated system ask for lots of details and then the human asks for them again, why!!. The most recent flaunt was the transformer for the hub/router/wifi had given up the ghost, they were going to send out a whole new wifi/router/hub.... i had a spare.

TBH the people on the otherside of the phone are nice people, the hardware they use is what lets them down.

StyX
(StyX is staring at you, yes YOU!!!, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:41, 2 replies)

Hello, I am Sandra (in thick Indian accent)
Sandra: I am calling here from xyz company and would like to ask what mobile phone network you are currently using.
Me: BT (this was a call to my landline)
Sandra: Good, we can save you money on your mobile networking if you leaving British Telecoms and come along with us.
Me: Will you come and fit a new line for this new mobile network?
Sandra: {pause} We will not be fitting a new landline for a mobile.
Me: Sandra, I am having small doubts then, as the box outside for this mobile phone is broken, and I would really like a new one.
Sandra: Is yours a mobile or a landline?
Me: Yes.
Sandra: {Pause} So you have mobile right?
Me: Yes, Sandra. I am very mobile. I am talking in my living room, and wait, {step step step step step step}, now I am talking in my dining room. I don't know what I would do without my mobile.
Sandra: You use your mobile away from home?
Me: Yes, one moment (step step step step step step, step step step step step step, step step step step step step, step step step step step step, step step step step step step) and now I am standing in my garden. I think it has Blueteeth or something...
Sandra: But you have a landline with BT
Me: No, Sandra. I am mobile...
Sandra: {click}


My Wife: You really are a cnut!
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:36, 1 reply)

Have a pea...
I used to work for T-Mobile. And mostly, I had a right old laugh. The stalker for example who used to like calling up and hanging up if he heard a bloke's voice, or if he stayed on the line, would start getting extremely freaky, by asking the ladies in the office out on dates. Or the massively angry Scot who always rang to query 20p on his bill. Or any of the other variety of callers who otherwise brightened a dull day.

However, one of these was not so bright. A lady called up, sounding quite distraught. It seemed she had deleted a voicemail from her father. Her sadly departed father. Looking back, you'd think now there would be a backup system in place to retrieve these. Unfortunately, there wasn't. Having to explain that final piece she had of her father was gone forever was one of the most difficult things I have had to do in this job.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:36, Reply)

I never worked in a call centre but I worked in customer services
I worked for a gov department. Working with the pubic is fantastic so fantastic I left. People hated me just for the job I did and I was trying to help them.

A very elderly man asked me out for dinner when I said I couldnt possibly. He said you have got your cheque fuck off back to Westminster and suck the Tony Blair's cock!

I was once called a paedophile, when I asked the getleman to explain he said, ok you might not be fucking children but you are fucking every one else over!
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:31, 1 reply)

"and when she walks, each one she passes goes....uh, excuse me?..."
I used to work for a University doing, amongst other things, handling all of their advertising. It was my first proper job and it was soon clear that as a forthright (rude) northerner in darkest East Anglia, I was perfect to handle the patronising, downright rude and sometimes incredibly stupid cold-callers who used to think that universities would be gullible enough to part with public funds in order to promote their courses in glossy, useless magazines (think 'Basket-Weaving and Topiary Quarterly' and you'd be about right.)

So, it's Friday afternoon - that's the time they always call as they're on a deadline and will think you're in 'weekend stupid' mode. Conversations would regularly ensue thus:

Caller: 'Hello, can I speak to Nunnerfly please?'
Me: 'Speaking'
C: 'Hi Nunnerfly (using my first name without asking me, and when they don't know me. I hate that.) I'm calling from X magazine, and I know how hard it is to recruit students these days. That's why we've come up with this fantastic new mag-
me: 'Sorry, can I stop you there? this sounds really interesting, and I want to give you my full attention. Can I just put you on hold while I close the door?'
C: 'Sure'

Pause while Nunnerfly 'presses hold', puts her feet up on her desk and then begins to sing, down the phone, her chosen hold tune of the day.

My favourite was 'The Girl from Ipanema'; it has such a lightness to it that it's a pleasure to sing in a slightly wistful tone, and it's easy enough to sing without concentrating too much so that you can listen to the response of the caller as they're listening to you.

I'd carry on for a good couple of minutes (with repeats if necessary), then come back on the line with a 'sorry to keep you; now, where were we?'

Now, they can't reasonably ask me whether I've just sung my own hold music, as they're supposed to be impressing me, as well as reading from a script. There would then normally be some garbled reason as to why they couldn't stay on the line, and I would be left in peace.

Aaaaah, times...
(Nunnerfly, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:27, 2 replies)

I'm meek - MEEK, DAMN YOU!
My mum has an awesome technique for dealing with cold callers, that I sometimes adopt when I have to deal with someone who is trying to give me the hard sell.

When a normal reasonable person rings up I explain that as a couple we like to discuss what we are doing with our finances before we make changes. I'll listen to the information, but I won't do anything without checking with t'fella first. However, if the person is piling on the pressure I use "The Meek Housewife" approach which goes roughly as follows.

"I'm sorry, my [significant other] deals with all this sort of thing. It sounds like a very good offer though, if you give me the number to ring for more information I'm sure he'll give you a call. I'm afraid you can't try later as I don't know when he might be back."

It works just as well for door-to-door folk, especially when you can just take a leaflet to show the "Man-of-the-house".

It does require you to behave like you're chained to the kitchen sink and I imagine is more effective for women than men, but I like it as it's non-confrontational. If the pushy sales person thinks you don't make any of the important decisions in the house then they will likely move on. Also it doesn't require you to generate a poorly formed lie on the spot.

"I'm afraid I can't sign up to your service because... um... I'm allergic to pens... and pencils.. and ooh my canary is in the oven, got to go! Bye!"
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:24, 6 replies)

T-Mobile
i was once cold-called by a cretinous arse from t-mobile. the conversation went thus:

cretin: hello, i am calling from t-mobile with a great new offer on our mobile phone services
me: sorry, i'm not interested.
cretin: which mobile company are you with?
me: i'm not with a mobile company.
cretin: sorry? which company are you with?
me: i'm not with any company, i don't have a mobile phone.
cretin : WHY NOT? WHY HAVEN'T YOU GOT A MOBILE PHONE?(he really was getting stupidly angry about this)
me: because i don't need one.
cretin: what if someone needs to phone you while you're out?
me: then they're out of luck, aren't they?
cretin: YOU NEED A MOBILE PHONE!
me: no, i really don't.
cretin: WHY NOT?????
me: because i'm mostly housebound and have a landline, not that it's any of your business.
cretin: what if your landline had a fault? what would you do then? JUST TAKE ONE OF OUR PHONES!
me: oh, do fuck off.
*click*
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:22, Reply)

I got tricked into cold calling once
I got tricked into cold calling once. I’d been temping via an agency. I’d had the audacity to get myself a permanent job somewhere else. The company I was working for took issue and got rid of me the day they found out. I went back to the agency to see what they could offer me. They said that they had a position, calling business to business and carrying out surveys. I was told that the company I’d be calling would be expecting a call from this marketing firm.

I was desperate as my job didn’t start for a few weeks. I went along to the training and smelled a rat immediately. It was cold calling people at home. Still, I went along with it, needed the cash, mortgage and bills etc.

The big day came, I was due to start my shift at 3.30. I was to conduct a survey about transport in the north west. I was terrified, stomach in knots etc (and if anyone knows what I’m like, I’m certainly NOT like that). I lasted an hour. Long enough to get a few FUCK OFFs from people. I got up and walked out. I phoned my other half to tell him and he said that he knew I wouldn’t stick at it but he didn’t want to tell me that beforehand because I’m stupidly stubborn and would’ve done it just to prove him wrong, no matter how ill or anxious it made me in the process. Still, I got one good thing out of it, I made a fabulous friend. Every cloud…

Edit: Also, it taught me not to be mean to cold callers (although we have TPS), they're just doing a job.
( Blue Star was working part time at the 5 and Dime, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:17, 2 replies)

Cold Callers
I actually find it difficult to believe that there are people out there who would voluntarily do this for a living.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:05, 12 replies)

top tip??
(I'm not to sure if this would work with the bigger call centre outfits, but with smaller companies it should work.)

If you're having major hassle trying to get through to call centres, it's always worth trying the sales number and giving it the line "oops...silly me.. could you transfer me through to the support centre". Companies will always man sales lines, as they don't want new prospective customers waiting.

Whereas contracted customers ... well they can just sit and wait.
(sarcasmo needs more sleep, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 14:02, 1 reply)

Filtering databases...
You can register on a couple of databases with through BT which means that you are ‘protected’ from obtaining cold calls.

I did this years ago and there is a superb decline in offers of double glazing, exterior wall coatings, double glazing, free holidays, etc etc etc..

Occasionally you will get one of the companies try it on without carrying out their checks first and the conversation usually goes like this…

Person : “My name is Abcdef and I’m calling from Xyz Company. We are carrying out… yadda yadda yadda”
Bof : “That’s really quite interesting… what did you say your name was again?”
Person : “Abcdef”
Bof : “And what is the name of the company you are calling from?”
Person : “Xyz Company”
Bof : calmly…: “Great… before you go any further are you aware that my details are recorded on a couple of databases that are to prevent cold calling? That it is a requirement that you check before calling and that your company is now liable to fines that may exceed £2000?”

*click* Brrrrr…..

Works every time…
(bof, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:38, 3 replies)

Terrible cunts
I was pulled over by the police whilst driving to work on Wednesday - apparently I didnt have insurance.
I then proceded to explain that I had a valid insurance document. They told me I had to produce this to them at the station which I duley did.
The CUNTS at www.swiftcover.com had cancelled my insurance because they couldnt get my no-claims from my last provider. They had apparently TEXT!? me to tell me this.
I now have to go to fucking court over this to prove I've done all I can to be insured.
I phone their help and they explained that they do not call customers and use text and email only. WHAT THE FUCK!
I am seeking legal advise to sue the fuckers.
CUNTS CUNTS CUNTS
( SiX and his hat, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:37, 9 replies)

Paid thumb-twiddling
During the phase between leaving university and actually figuring out what I wanted to do for a living (which lasted approximately two years), I put in a shortish stint at a call centre in Perivale. Those familiar with West London will know that the tourist attractions of Perivale are its moderately reliable Tube station, its deliciously breathable air and its plentiful supply of roads. The office building housing the call centre was so remote it even had its own supermarket on site.

Anyway, I got hired by a Japanese electronics giant to man the phones during a marketing campaign they'd just launched for a new laptop associated with various business solutions. By "just launched", I mean "launched on the same day they overoptimistically hired the telesales team". There was thus a delay of around two weeks during which the customer base received, digested and got around to dealing with the marketing materials.

During these two weeks we received not one single call. Surfing the internet for SFW material got stultifyingly tedious by about the fourth day. We couldn't even indulge in the sole interesting pastime any of us could think of (going to the pub at lunchtime for a swift pint or five) because we had to take lunch in shifts "just in case someone does call". Add a ban on personal e-mails to the equation and you have a great recipe for how to drive someone stir crazy.

A couple of weeks after that things did pick up and customers actually started calling, but top management decided that things were going a bit too slowly and that we were to start cold-calling people. It was at this point that I left, since that wasn't part of the original agreement.

On the plus side there was a very cute American guy on the team and for a while there was some serious chemistry between us, so much so that I was very tempted to find out what it was like to sleep with another bloke, but in the end the combination of me not having my own place at the time and just being a bit shy meant that I chickened out.
( .Yeti., Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:36, 4 replies)

Pronto!
Went Inter-railing with the girlfiend in the early nineties. (To the unaware you basically bought a ticket which allowed you unlimited use of Europe's railways for a month.) Great holiday with many a story, but the one relevant to this QOTW is my encounter with the National Italian Phone Service.

The missus wanted to phone home just to let them know we weren't dead or anything, but she was too scared of using the phone, so it fell on me to try to get through. Before you read on, you need to know that the gf's parents live near Bedford. The phone call went something like this:

it: pronto
me: do you speak english?
it: yes
me: I need to make a call to England please
it: ok, which town?
me: Bedford
it: Bed--ford?
me: yes bedford please
it: bed--ffford? (Lots of Italian chat in background)
me: yes bedford please
it: no bedford
me: what do you mean no bedford, its there,
it: no bedford
me: (irate) what do you mean no bedford? I need to call someone please put me through.
**click**

Its hot in Italy in July. This was a particularly hot day during the hot season and I had just had the misfortune of having to use an Italian public toilet, I was bloody hungry from lack of food and I still had my rucksack and half the gf's stuff still on my back, I was not really in the mood for mindgames. Nonetheless I was persuaded to call again:

it: pronto (it's the same guy, what are the chances?)
me: do you speak english?
it: yes
me: I need to make a call to England please
it: ok, which town?
me: Bedford
it: no bedford
me: what do you mean no bedford, please, I need to make an urgent call.
it: no bedford
**click**

By this time I was looking for ways to end it all. Surely this was some elaborate wind up or something? I was persuaded to try one last time:

it: pronto (AGAIN it's the same guy, so I grit my teeth and ask again)
me: do you speak english?
it: No.
**click**

A heated debate with the gf ensued and we walked the final two miles up a steep hill to our campsite (in Bologna I think) in near silence.

On returning to blighty a few weeks later we met up with the gf's parents and my mum and dad turned up as well. On recounting this story my Dad started laughing hysterically. After a few moments he promptly informed us that in Italy (I don't know if they have changed the system since) you had to give the number of the phonebox you were calling from so the operator could call you back and then proceed with your call.
(mersault, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:32, 2 replies)

Not a Call Centre - just unsolicited pillocks...
Just recently I got a call at about 2.00am.
I wasn’t in bed… probably watching some crap late night movie….
The male voice was somewhat garbled and shouting…
The voice : “WGGHGBT!!… YOU not talking to me anymore?”
Bof : “Pardon”
The voice : “WGGHGBT!!… YOU not talking to me anymore?”
Bof : “I think you must have the wrong number”
The Voice : “C’MON…. YOU not talking to me anymore?”
Bof : “You have called the wrong number”
The voice : “Oh…. I’m sorry… is there anyway I can make it up to you? Can I give you a blowjob?”
Bof : “That’s a very kind offer, but I’ve just had one, thank you”

The voice (and numerous others in the background) proceeded with howls of laughter.
Bof : “Thank you for calling.. Goodnight”
Hangs up.

It feels good to bring a little bit of joy into some poor sad waster’s life.
(bof, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:26, 1 reply)

I have to admit that I have little to complain about
Most companies I deal with do not seem to generate much ire when I speak to them. In fact I would go on to say that most of them are really rather good. I even have a guilty pleasure call centre.

The DVLA.

Based as they are in Swansea, 99.999999999999% of the employees there have a splendid, broad and flowing accent that has me half expecting to hear them break into "Men of Harlic" at any moment. Some of the ladies sound rather alluring in what is probably a specialist fetish of one as well. It is worth noting that the DVLA are no more effective than any other government department- any action requires pages of forms and takes an age but I am so happy after talking to any of them, I don't seem to care. If any B3tan is employed locating government call centres, they may want to take this on board.

An honorable mention must also go to the usually evil Barclays. Barclays, true to form, have long fired their English call centre staff and relocated to India. They have deviated from the norm in that their staff make no pretense of being anywhere other than India and will give their real name as opposed to some hilariously fake Western deriviative. They also have perfect diction, good annunciation and know their shit. There is something deeply impressive about being given some quite in depth information about getting the online banking system up and alive on Firefox- in the early days it was a bit reluctant- from thousands of miles away.

Length? Well I reckon some of the ladies of Swansea could see me through in no time at all.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:21, 8 replies)

i'd like to apologise
to the guy who tried to sell me something a couple of months back.
i was more than a little drunk as i'd been drinking since lunch and being a light weight it really didn't take much.

we had decided to continue the party back at my house as we were celebrating.
anyways my phone rang, i answered and was met with the usual.

the conversation went as follows, he claimed that his company where the best for double glazing.
this then tweaked something in my little mind and i then began to serenade him with the worst possible rendition* of "simply the best" by tina turner
unfortunately he hung up before the end of my performance (as far as i can guess about 2 seconds into it)

again i'm sorry to whoever that was.
if you ring back i'll do a request next time.

.
(stitched, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:10, Reply)

The Revenge of the Miserable Call-Centre Monkey
I worked for a large multi-national camera/photocopier company in the early noughties (they "Can") and have never had a more depressing period of employment... I worked in their Photocopier repair call-centre and would take calls from companies all over the UK with broken copiers.

It was odd how, around mid-December, photocopier glass seemed to gain a propensity for unannounced breakage... "Heavy books" was always the shameful, sheepish explanation, but it was clear to all involved that the office Christmas party had gotten a little out of hand and that someone's cubicle was now plastered from floor to ceiling in sheaves of A4 copy-paper containing monochrome images of sweaty ass-cracks, pressed penises, blurry minges and flattened nipples...

On my final day, I got a little tipsy over lunch and decided to end my tenure with some payback. The following exchanges stick in my head:

Me: Good afternoon. ***** Customer Services. How can I help you?
Customer: Hi. I need to book a repair?
Me: Is that you?
Customer: I'm sorry?
Me: Is that you?
Customer: Errr...
Me: I told you never to call me here.
*CLICK*

--------------------------------------

Me: Good afternoon. ***** Customer Services. How can I help you?
Customer: Hi. I need to book a repair?
Me: Certainly. Can you give me the...
HOLY FUCK!! MY LEG'S JUST COME OFF!!
*CLICK*
(Brett Starbuck, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:08, 4 replies)

Good morning, how can I ruin your holiday?
As a student, I worked in the call centre for a large cross-channel ferry company, back in the day when people believed that booking something on the internet was the same as handing your credit card over to a friendly Nigerian businessman. Most people still called up to make bookings or enquiries.

The work was tedious and the days were long – with every minute of your activity, including loo breaks, being timed - but it was doable, the money was good, and the customers were mostly fine. Every now and then there was even some entertainment, such as the customer who couldn’t understand why we didn’t sail to Switzerland.

In short, it beat working retail. But for me, that changed when the company carried out one of the pettiest acts of corporate larceny I can imagine.

As well as Dover-Calais, the company ran another service from Newhaven (further down the coast, in Sussex) to Dieppe. There was a special offer on both routes; if you booked and paid your holiday for next year by Dec 31st, you got the trip for £100 – about half of what you’d normally pay.

All summer we took bookings for people’s holidays next year. But while we could input the Dover-Calais ones into the system, the ferry times for any crossing from Newhaven after February weren’t set up. Us call centre monkeys were told not to worry as the schedule wasn’t finalised yet; we should just take the punters’ money and book them in for the days they wanted, and the details would be sorted out later.

I went away to Uni and came back to work in December. The times for Newhaven still weren’t set.

Then, one week into January, the company cancelled the Newhaven-Dieppe route. Customers were given a choice of a cancellation and refund, or rebooking on Dover-Calais. Cue travel chaos, unhappy punters, and a lot of ruined holidays.

But what tips this story from unfortunate business decision into full-blown deceit is this: the company knew it was cancelling the route all along. That’s why the ferries weren’t in the systems – it never had any intent of running them in the first place. It only pretended they were to get people to sign up for the special offer.

By doing so, it not only had the customers’ money for at least a couple of months, but it also ensured that most of them would now travel with the company, albeit on a route (Dover-Calais) that they didn’t want to use.

Apologies for the lack of funny, but it’s been ten years and I’m still pretty Pissed (&) Off about this. To screw over so many of your customers, solely for getting hold of their cash for a little bit longer, just seemed so short-sighted and evil to me. I left and never went back.
(silencer, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:06, 2 replies)

British Telecom and a thirty foot tower of flames...
If you're not interested in scene setting, miss the first few paragraphs...

A couple of years ago, I was at the house that Mr Anodyne used to share with his Dad and two brothers. This house had a teeny yard you had to walk across to reach the driveway and leave. The yard was made even smaller by the addition of two thirty-foot tall conifer trees. (This is important).

So, it's summer, the weather's been ace for about two weeks now. Naturally, this means me and Mr Anodyne are slobbing about in the attic watching Neighbours. Then all of a sudden, we hear his younger brother, who was about 15 at the time, shout up. A tiny, quivering voice: "uhm.....guys?". Mr Anodyne thought he mught have got himself in some trouble (as he was wont to do), and so ran downstairs with a cricket bat. I sat at the top of the stairs listening when I heard Mr Anodyne shout "....FUCK! BelladonnaAnodyne, get the FUCK OUTSIDE NOW!"

Downstairs I ran, to be greeted by the sight of both conifers fully ablaze, about 3 foot away from the wooden porch. Ah, fucksocks. So, to get out, I had to run straight past the trees. Very scary.

Whilst awaiting the fire brigade and panicking that all my notes for my impending exams will go up in flames if the house ignites, I am informed that whilst little brother was sat completely innocently on the porch, some blaggard had walked past the house and flicked a cigarette into the dried needles under the trees, thus igniting the trees. (Not him. Honest.) When he shouted for Mr Anodyne, he was in the process of running to the kitchen to get a pan of water. D'oh.

Anyways, fire brigade come, I get told off for videoing them, the house doesn't catch fire, we're all safe, yay.

Now, with the conifer trees being so tall, the heat from them had completely severed next door's phone line. So, I go next door. Mrs Next Door is a lovely Indian lady who doesn't speak much English, and, whilst her husband is at work, looks after a very young grandchild, and a son who has terminal cancer. So, obviously, not someone I really want to bother. Anyways, I explain what's happened and tell her I'll phone BT to get someone to repair it.

PARAGRAPH SKIPPERS, TUNE BACK IN

Ok, so I ring BT up, and have to spend ten minutes JUST to go through "press 1 for....", and so on, and then ANOTHER ten minutes on hold.

I get through to a real human, and the conversation goes something like this:

Me: I want to report a phone line that's been severed due to fire damage *explains about conifers etc*
BT: Ok, and you're the account holder?
Me: No, it's the neighbour's phone line
BT: Ah... You need to get the account holder to ring us. Data Protection you see.
Me: But... THEIR PHONE LINE IS BROKEN.
BT: MMmm, I see your problem. Well, they could use a mobile.
Me: *explains that husband is at work and that no-one else in house can do anything like this*
BT: Mmmmmm....weeeeeeellll, if you can go get the account details, I SUPPOSE you could do it.

So, I goes next door and tries to explain what I need. She gives me a copy of their phone bill. I write his name down, and the account number. I goes back, back through the maze, and the purgatory that is being on hold. This took another 25 minutes. I explain what's happened, that I have the account number, blah blah blah. She then asks me what the phone number is. SHIT.

We go through another 10 minutes of the Data Protection dance, until I finally snap, and shout:

"OK. I am telling you this for the LAST TIME. There is a broken phone line that services *address*. If your engineers turn up, they will be able to see it. It goes from *number* telegraph pole. FIX IT. I have now spent OVER AN HOUR trying to make you people see sense. STOP IT AND SEND AN ENGINEER, OR ELSE I WILL MAKE A HUGE DEAL OF THIS." (I have no idea what I meant by the last part)

BT lady's response?

"Well....yes. I see what you mean, but it really is too late to send engineers round now. They'll have to come tomorrow." *puts phone down*

It was half past bloody two in the afternoon.

Lessons to be learned?

If you are going to sever your neighbour's phone line by igniting a tree below them, make sure you do it first thing, and then make sure you go back in time and ring them even earlier to take the horrendous length of time you will spend on the phone into account, because BT engineers clock off at midday. Twats.

Congratulations if you read all that. Rant over.
(BelladonnaAnodyne Melissa's gonna wet herself, I swear..., Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:01, Reply)

Scary Donnie
Change of pace this week, true tale, no puns. Bit long though to be fair.

I was in my second year at Art College in Dundee in the late eighties. It’s not fair to say Dundee is a shithole – I’ve seen much nicer shitholes in my time. I had daydreamed my way through jobs in various bars but the constant parade of pissed up rugger bugger student doctors and town planners pulling braying grab-your-arse student nurses got on my nerves after a while. The last bar I worked in as a student was an old church converted into a seedy dive that catered for a mismatched clientele of local neds and pasty Goths. I left after a particularly foul manatee grabbed my hand as I handed her change across the bar and shoved it right down her grim oubliette of a cleavage whist slurring an ominous invite into the ‘ladies’. By this point her rat faced little scrote of boyfriend was already darting across the room like some polyester clad, lard seeking missile. He was still screaming his threats of various stabbings and slashing that would befall my extended family as he was forcibly ejected. The only reason I stayed so long was I had a nice fiddle working on the draught lager – for every other Pound-a-Pint I pulled a golden nugget went straight in my ‘tips’ pocket. So I was on double time every shift. Shortly after I left that particular glittering career opportunity the place was burnt out by a disgruntled biker gang - quite possibly the only worthwhile urban renewal project seen in Dundee.

So it was while leafing through the local paper I came upon an ad for ‘telesales canvassers’ for a company selling UPVC windows and doors. I gave them a call. I was offered a job on the spot; presumably my unique selling points were I could speak whilst operating a telephone.

I turned up for my first night feeling quite optimistic. I needn’t have bothered. The building was a draughty old sandstone affair with the sort of fusty institutional odour common in old Carnegie libraries and pre-war hospitals dotted around Scotland. I was greeted by Jackie ‘the manageress’. If you were to take every childlike stereotype of a witch and feed it into some sophisticated identikit software it would spit out a bile flecked uncanny likeness of Jackie – coarse frizzy hair, rake thin, hook nosed and heavily wrinkled from heroic levels of smoking. When she spoke her thin lips pursed up like a dogs rectum from years of weapons grade cynicism and Regal King Sized to reveal some frankly terrifying teeth. Without the cheap black trouser suit to support her scrawny frame, I suspect she may well have had trouble remaining upright.

This was not a high-tech call centre, not by any stretch. A large dreary room with five or six clusters four mismatched tatty desks, each with a dog eared telephone directory and a grimy yellow phone. There was actually a fucked fluorescent light that buzzed and stammered in one corner like some clichéd interrogation room. Jackie extended a bony arm and disinterestedly invited me to sit ‘wherever the hell I liked’. A quick scan around the room of pallid grey faces let my gaze fell upon the only cluster of desks with just one occupant. I breezed over and took up the desk across from Donald. This was not a good idea. I later found everyone else simply referred to him as ‘Scary Donnie’. Donnie was probably around 50 or more with quite alarming eyebrows and Brylcreemed hair. I later came to suspect Donnie’s hair was in fact just very, very greasy. He had elected to wear a shit brown suit and pus coloured shirt combo with one of those curious knitted ties only ever worn by distracted academics, the oddness amplified by the fact everyone else was in jeans and trainers. I quickly noted Donnie was the only one in the room wearing a telephone headset. I smiled and made some nervous gesture pointing to my own head to indicate his headset and said ‘nice’ or something equally vacuous. Scary Donnie looked right through me then slowly turned to leaf through his phone book. Everything in the room seemed to go into slow motion as I stared at the plaster. Donnie had a pristine square of fresh sticking plaster stuck over the hole where his left ear would have been. The hole I had just gesticulated towards grinning like and idiot and ‘admired’. Fuck.

Donnie didn’t talk very much aside from his monotone drone on the calls. I soon settled into the routine and kept my spot across from Scary Donnie – I think I was too scared to move elsewhere. It was easy if not dull money. I was so bored I often had to fight sleep during the dreaded 8 to 9 o’clock stint. The place was staffed by a motley crew of misfits and no hopers, there wasn’t much chance for witty banter, or much hope of it even if there had been. I took to offering to do pretty much anything aside from making the calls in an attempt to relieve the monotony. One evening the all important fax machine the field sales reps relied upon ran out of paper. It was the old days of thermal paper and I was only too happy to take the mission of getting another from the storeroom upstairs. I trudged up the stairs and found the store. Usual stuff really – cartons of cheap A4 copy paper and stacks of those massive blue rolls of rough paper towels found in office toilets. On my way back out I spotted a large square door frame about three feet above the floor. Closer inspection revealed maybe 30 coats of nicotine yellow paint and some screw holes where there had once been a handle. I found a metal shelf bracket and managed to pry the door open after some grunting and scraping. Inside were some dusty wooden stairs that dog-legged up into the gloom. Being simultaneously nosey and bored is a sirens call that simply cannot be ignored. I hauled myself up and clambered up the stairs only to be confronted with another door. It was stiff but a quick boot opened upon a truly odd scene. It was clearly an old barber’s shop that had been abandoned. The room was the same size and layout as the ‘call centre’ below but this was on the attic level – there were large bay windows at intervals all around the room. There was broken glass and bits of wood strewn all over the floor and the sort of old school barbers chairs that are bolted to the floor still in place. I mooched around for a while marvelling at abandoned scissors, combs and old pictures of gents hairstyles that went out of fashion long before my time and ads for long forgotten pomades and oils. The place had been simply abandoned and locked up by the look of it. I spotted an old leather strop hanging from a wooden dresser; I had never actually seen one in real life. The mirror above the dresser was spotted with rust and the tabletop, thick with dust, was littered with the tools of some long gone barber. I tugged at one of the drawers. It opened grudgingly. And there it was – a piece of dried up bacon. I was just about to pick it up when the vomit welled up in the back of my throat. It was a severed. Fucking. Ear. I turned to run and was stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of Donnie. He was standing in the doorway with his head tilted slightly to one side. It was the only time I had ever seen him smile. A slack, sickly wet lipped smile. Donnie made a horrible guttural noise then came at me with the razor. When he grabbed me I had that truly sickening realisation that comes when suddenly faced with someone with much more physical power. He got me in a headlock and raised the razor towards my ear. I could see his wild eyed reflection on the rusty blade.

The last thing I remember is laughter as I was spluttering and screaming. Jackie’s bony claw was on my shoulder “Spimf! SPIMF! For fucks sake, wake up will you” I looked round at the rest of the gleeful faces in that God awful call centre. All calls had stopped - even Donnie had a huge gormless smile plastered across his big creepy big face from ear to, erm... Once i had a cup of coffee and was truly back in the land of the living i saw the funny side too, but for a while it truly had been a complete call centre nightmare.

Didn't stop the skinny bitch docking my already pitiful wages though. Miserable witch.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:57, 3 replies)

any slumdog millionaire jokes
yet?
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:48, Reply)

I took a cold call from a company wanting to sell me a conservatory
despite hearing them properly, I feigned a daft old boy voice and told them I had voted labour all me life, me dad had voted labour all his life and his grandad before him, and I wasn't about to start voting for those tory bastards now. Good Day.

The laughter on the other end of the phone made me smile as I cut them off
( Griffin Saver Something, something, 2006, something., Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:44, Reply)

How to get a call centre job
I was once interviewing a very pretty young business graduate named Jenny for a vacant positon in my team. The office manager and I were running through the questions, then my brain let me down badly. I went to ask a question and forgot how to speak, tumbleweeds were blowing across the desert tundra behind my forehead. I wanted to ask Jenny what her listening skills were like as this is an important skill when trying to sell people crap they don't really need.

I wanted to ask Jenny for some examples of when she's used her listening skills to sell things in the past.

...blank...

Eventually something formed in my head and I blurted out: "Jenny - how would you rate your aural skills?"

Jenny chuckled. The office manager tensed in her seat. Jenny replied: "My boyfriend doesn't have any complaints."

I gave her the job.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:36, 2 replies)

If any of you call centre people
cold call a mad old bag who wants to call you by your first name, tells you all her medical history including all about her irritable bowel and how great the menopause has been cos she doesn't get flooding periods anymore, and will buy any old shit you want to sell her whether she needs it or not on the basis that 'oh but xxxx was soooo nice, he/she would NEVER rip me off like that!' then you just rang my mum.

Don't sell her anything though. That's my fucking inheritance you're ripping her off for.

On a couple of occasions while visiting and listening in on cold calls, i've had to take the phone out of her hand and end the call before she wastes any more money. She's not senile or anything, just stupid and naive.
( spesh., Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:21, 1 reply)

Someone trying to sell me the Daily Mail
It's an old story, but it bears re-telling:

One night, I'm sitting by my PC when the phone rings. So I answer and it goes like this...

Caller: "Is that Mr [Whippity]?"

Me: "Yes."

Caller: "Hello, Mr [Whippity], I'm calling from the 'Daily Mail'. Do you read a newspaper?"

Me: "Very rarely, and if I do, it's 'The Guardian'."

Caller: "You may be interested to know that the 'Daily Mail' are doing a special half-price offer for a fortnight in your area. It will be supported by local newsagents so they'll deliver it to you, and you'll have 14 days papers for the price of seven."

Me: "I'll stop you there. I know you're only doing your job, but I'd rather stick pins in my genitals than read the 'Daily Mail'."

Caller: "Oh well, I'll let you get back to that then." [click]

From that night, I've been in love with whoever she was who called me. I was left holding the phone thinking "You're wonderful".

So - if you're reading this, Daily-Mail-selling lady, get in touch. I promise there'll be no pin-sticking involved.
(uncle whippity, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:18, 1 reply)

Most of
the answers are a walk in the park.

If you want real trouble when phoning a call centre, try the DVLA.

Stupidity mixed with arrogence and usually with a side dish of flat out refusal to help or use a tiny amount of common sense.
(dchurch bah, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:14, 2 replies)

How to deal with cold callers
This is my Dad's method and it works quite well.

As soon as you recognise that you have a cold caller on the other end of the phone, don't hangup, shout abuse, or anything else, just simply ask them to wait a minute and then place them on hold.

Wait 5 minutes and check if they are still there. If they are then put them back on hold. Repeat until they're forced to hang up.

For extra fun, place the phone so that the cold caller can hear whatever activity you are engaged in while they are on hold. Music, movies, insane ramblings about how you;re gonna hide the bodies etc.
Bonus points for pr0n.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 12:12, 4 replies)