Friday, January 13, 2006

the modern age

Talking with telemarketers is often like trying to dig a lake with a toothpick; or conversely, like having your eyelids stapled to your forehead. And I really feel like those poor souls in India or China (surreptitiously named 'Joe' and 'Marybeth', trying so hard to disguise their accents and generally any signs of foreigness for the sake of not offending my white north american sensibilities) deserve better than to deal with my crummy online banking, or cable bill woes. Or maybe they're happy they have a job, so it makes it easier to take crap. I was careful to explain to the fourth person I talked to (all telling me the same thing over and over again) that I was not angry at him, but rather at for their bogus policies: it only helps so much -- having worked in customer service, I know you just can't help but feel a little bit attacked.

I hope that something -- Buddha, or Vishnu, or Karma -- provides them with a promotion in the next life; be it as a Bodhisattva, a Sravka, or a Brahmin. May they be appropriately compensated for taking flack from jerks like me.