These are the people I work with

typed for your pleasure on 24 September 2004, at 2.29 am

Let me start out first by saying that because I hate my workplace so much, I’m intentionally avoiding writing about it. For one, the job really isn’t worth more than three seconds’ worth ov attention, and it’s so relentlessly despicable that talking about it outside ov the workplace makes my stomach hurt; also, it’s such a hideous and socially-reviled job that I would be hard-pressed to find people who are sympathetic to my cause (in case you’ve just joined us, it’s telemarketing, but the company prefers the term ‘fundraising’). Finally, I didn’t want ‘Shouting to hear the echoes’ to turn into A Blog Where All I Do Is Bitch About My Job. Personally I feel that people think I’m boring enough as it is; I don’t need to provide additional evidence to support that claim. However, today’s work experience was somewhat noteworthy..

So I’m at my aforementioned loverly workplace today when one ov my colleagues — we’ll call him Slick — stops round to my cubicle for the day’s salutation. He’s one ov the literally four or five employees I will go out ov my way to acknowledge the presence ov, and that’s only cos he was enquiring about my relationship with Kati, who was the one good friend I had at work before, so he’s one ov those ‘you made eye contact with me, now you’re my friend for life’ kind ov fellas. Heh.
At any rate, Slick stops by — while I’m on the phone with someone, mind you (and that’s a topic that I’ll have to address at a later time; how I can’t feckin’ stand it when someone tries talking to me when I’m on a phone) — and after a couple ov brief seconds, he leans towards me and says, sotto voce, ‘Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could get some powder, do ya?’ I’m like ‘What??’; partially cos I was taken aback at the question, as no-one has ever asked me where they could score some drugs from before, and partially cos I was, as previously stated, on the phone, and I’m not talented enough to be able to listen to more than one human at a time.
‘Err, no, actually, I don’t,’ I replied, tilting the mouthpiece on my headset away. He nodded, made the OK sign, then headed for the bog. Ahem. Upon exiting, he passed by one more time and remarked, ‘Hey — be sure to keep this between you & me, huh?’ I gave him a hearty thumbs-up. I mean, really; what else could I do?

Yeeaaah, that’s brilliant. Between the coke addicts, and the white trash whores, and the black trash whores, and the fucking jock with the needlessly loud voice sat in the cubicle right next to me, wow — my workplace is just like Interzone

Random similar posts, for more timewasting:

My First Day At Work, by Davecat, aged five on September 3rd, 2005

Ears are bleeding: supplemental on July 21st, 2006

One has spoken to “These are the people I work with”

  1. MontiLee writes:

    Apparently to this crowd, you have “mole” written all over you.

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