Don't you just hate that? You call a company in hopes of talking to a real, genuine, in-the-flesh kind of person. Not this scummy, monotonous bodiless voice that tells you to pick either ONE for English or TWO for Espagnol.
All the while, you're sitting there going "Shit! I said OPERATOR! REP-RE-SENT-A-TIVE!! NO, I mean YES." And then even after all of that, you get to listen to the worst selection of crap music that drones on in the background while you have your phone pressed to your ear for ten minutes. That obnoxious waiting room designed within the confines of your phone is like a little twilight zone that you became prisoner to.
THAT'S WHAT IT FEELS LIKE.
That, my friends, is called Bullshit and I'm sure you've all been there a few times before. It's an actual place. Somewhere hidden in the thickets and through the depths of hell, there is a cozy little nook and it goes by the exact name: Bullshit.
I walk up to greet a table this afternoon. The woman is on her phone. Okay, cool. Sorry for interrupting, I'll come back in a few. It goes on.
Fifteen minutes later, she puts the phone down, so I re-approach the table, and offer drinks.
"Yeah, I'd love a drink, what kind of hot teas do you have?"
"Well," I began...already annoyed, "We have a few of the Stash and Tazo Brands..."
Her phone goes off. Of course, she pounces like a cat on a rat. As if it were the last existing box of Twinkies on the shelf after the cease of production.
"Oh I knew you lost your signal. What I was saying was...."
Bitch please.
What I was saying was, we have A, B, and C, and if you're not really thirsty then that's great. Saves me a trip. While you're talking I can either choose to walk away, and then have to babysit you to see when you put that device you have super-glued to your face back down while taking care of the tables I have that actually communicate with me
OR
I can wait it out. And let's be honest. Not one server enjoys standing there, while you give them the "Oh Just A Second" finger, because I'm the one left standing here overhearing your trivial conversation feeling like an asshole. Nope. No thanks. Not your whipping boy.
The question: Should I stay, or should I go now?
GO of course. How hard was that?
So when you're left wondering, goodness where IS our server, maybe oh maybe you will just reflect back to the time that you left me standing here for five minutes at your table because you had something really important to tell me, like your order perhaps. Because as you know, I'm not a mind-reader. I do really need your input so I can properly order exactly what you would like. Instead, however, you chose to answer that thing you're constantly on all the time anyway. You know. Your phone?
And the funny thing here? I'M just your server.
Damn do I feel bad for your date!
Newsflash. I'm here to work. He's here for your company. We're not asking for much.
B.Y.O.M.(anners)
All the while, you're sitting there going "Shit! I said OPERATOR! REP-RE-SENT-A-TIVE!! NO, I mean YES." And then even after all of that, you get to listen to the worst selection of crap music that drones on in the background while you have your phone pressed to your ear for ten minutes. That obnoxious waiting room designed within the confines of your phone is like a little twilight zone that you became prisoner to.
THAT'S WHAT IT FEELS LIKE.
That, my friends, is called Bullshit and I'm sure you've all been there a few times before. It's an actual place. Somewhere hidden in the thickets and through the depths of hell, there is a cozy little nook and it goes by the exact name: Bullshit.
I walk up to greet a table this afternoon. The woman is on her phone. Okay, cool. Sorry for interrupting, I'll come back in a few. It goes on.
Fifteen minutes later, she puts the phone down, so I re-approach the table, and offer drinks.
"Yeah, I'd love a drink, what kind of hot teas do you have?"
"Well," I began...already annoyed, "We have a few of the Stash and Tazo Brands..."
Her phone goes off. Of course, she pounces like a cat on a rat. As if it were the last existing box of Twinkies on the shelf after the cease of production.
"Oh I knew you lost your signal. What I was saying was...."
Bitch please.
What I was saying was, we have A, B, and C, and if you're not really thirsty then that's great. Saves me a trip. While you're talking I can either choose to walk away, and then have to babysit you to see when you put that device you have super-glued to your face back down while taking care of the tables I have that actually communicate with me
OR
I can wait it out. And let's be honest. Not one server enjoys standing there, while you give them the "Oh Just A Second" finger, because I'm the one left standing here overhearing your trivial conversation feeling like an asshole. Nope. No thanks. Not your whipping boy.
The question: Should I stay, or should I go now?
GO of course. How hard was that?
So when you're left wondering, goodness where IS our server, maybe oh maybe you will just reflect back to the time that you left me standing here for five minutes at your table because you had something really important to tell me, like your order perhaps. Because as you know, I'm not a mind-reader. I do really need your input so I can properly order exactly what you would like. Instead, however, you chose to answer that thing you're constantly on all the time anyway. You know. Your phone?
And the funny thing here? I'M just your server.
Damn do I feel bad for your date!
Newsflash. I'm here to work. He's here for your company. We're not asking for much.
B.Y.O.M.(anners)
-LMPhoto Credit:
Hold Please- www.wallpaperweb.org
Poor Time Management Skills vs. Rudeness- www.2time-sys.com
Requiem for a Hernia- www.brainpile.wordpress.com
Hold Please- www.wallpaperweb.org
Poor Time Management Skills vs. Rudeness- www.2time-sys.com
Requiem for a Hernia- www.brainpile.wordpress.com
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