A day in the life of a call centre worker
FOR most people, having a stranger make death threats to you over the telephone may be considered cause for concern, but it's all in a days work for the lowly call centre worker.
Where initially one might quake at the prospect of being insulted, broken down and generally aggravated to the point where you nearly lose your cool (and your job), it's amazing how quickly you learn to adjust, retaliating in that irritating robotic voice.
Though you spend most of your time nursing your own bruised ego, you can't help but spare a thought for the lonely old dears who regard ensnaring an unsuspecting agent in "an aul' chat" as the highlight of their day. One particularly persistent pensioner considered the bond we had formed during our seemingly endless conversation to be so strong, the 86 year old made the trip up to Dublin to "come see me in the office". After declaring to security that she was here to "take me away", they removed her from the premises.
Meanwhile, I returned to the normality of a rowdy customer labelling "people like me" the reason her poor Tony is six feet under, silently cursing myself for rejecting the offer of abduction from the enthusiastic spinster.
Another aspect of the job which exasperates me is when people ring in, guns blazing, and dramatically declare that they're "calling Joe Duffy", expecting me to gasp at the very mention of his name. It's always the mother stuck at home with what sounds like 10 screaming children in the background and no one to take her anger out on, fully determined to roar over the kids rather than pacify them, the accessories to her protest. Also, bear in mind I'm sporting the obligatory headset and am very susceptible to her sudden, sharp, shrieks.
I get threatened with 'terrifying' thoughts of being named and shamed on Liveline about 10, maybe 15 times on a good day.
Funny thing is, I don't really think aul' Joe is going to be too interested in Mary's phone being cut off, after all, she hasn't paid her bills for the last six months.
I don't think that's too unreasonable a series of events. Even Joe himself might be inclined to agree with me on that one.
But try telling that to Mary, who's giving the poor children in the background as much of an earful as she is me. "These are recessionary times!" she roars. Oh believe me Mary; I am well aware of that. In fact, I'm about €10 away from selling my soul for a weekly train ticket.
It's the little things that bother me the most. I don't particularly relish having young lads of 12 or 13 moaning at me over the phone because their broadband isn't fast enough to download One Night in Paris. They ought to be grateful for what they have.
I've spoken to many a poor soul in the west of the country that hasn't even got access to broadband yet. Which in this day and age has got to be some kind of human rights violation -- cheers to you Eamon Ryan.
Of course then there's the geniuses who shouldn't even be allowed to own a computer in the first place. Twenty minutes of relaying the most basic of instructions to one particular customer, and he still hadn't managed to get the monitor working.
This is when he decides to inform me that nothing is working in the house, the electricity had gone earlier that day. I had to press the mute button for my response to that.
Ah yes, the life of a call centre agent is a mucky business indeed. A daily routine of quick cigarette breaks round the alley by the bins, and the swapping of colds by coughing strategically into one another's headsets. Couple this with the ever-present worry of redundancy by the threat of the pre-recorded voice system urging you to press number three on your handset for billing enquiries.
So next time you're on the phone to the likes of me, please don't be so hasty to tell us where to shove it.
The likelihood is we've already heard every nasty insult you could possibly sling at us -- plus a few more choice phrases that would make a sailor blush.
Original Article: https://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-call-centre-worker-26560397.html
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