I have tried very hard to be jolly this week. No one wants to be accused of being Scrooge, particularly when you’re on the other side of middle-aged, your hair has turned white overnight, and you either forgot to take off your backpack or a hump has mysteriously appeared over your right shoulder.
But I have good reason to be cranky. It’s as if the Universe has conspired against me, forcing me to speak, in one week, to all the idiots that run the world. There’s Service Canada, my bank, and whatever acronym is supplying my electricity this month. The worst experience was a confrontation with what I will call Telephone Company A. You’ll probably guess who I’m talking about, although it doesn’t really matter. I’m just as annoyed with Company B.
I called Company A because I was having problems with my Internet. After making me listen to Deck the Halls for four hours, I was finally able to speak to an operator who wouldn’t have known what Deck the Halls even means. I don’t hold the operators responsible for the fact that they don’t speak any language I understand, they are probably just trying to feed their children. My ire is aimed at the idiots in Human Resources. I’ve applied for jobs, I know the kinds of questions they ask. The ones that play with your mind so that by the end of the interview you come across as a psychopath. I know they can ask questions, just not the easiest one – do you speak English?
And, of course, they always have the person speaking the language I do not understand handling the most technical issues. It’s difficult enough discussing my RAM with my nephew, and I kind of like him, think how it is answering questions about my Symantec Endpoint Protection with a complete stranger.