The Call Center

Sept 19, 2008

MSI

One has never truly sold his soul until he has worked at a call center. All day I call strangers and read verbatim hoping no one wants to participate, they sometimes do. I feel like the Time-Warner logo shoots from my mouth six hours a day, and I can actually feel my physical composition decompose. The inane chatter rises from the cubicles to gather just below the ceiling to rape my head for all the sanity it had left. My co-workers smile on the phone somehow, I know cause I see them. I loathe them. I also understand now that this is how society manoeuvres to place its least valuable souls at jobs with no benefit or promise. I feel the uselessness pump through my veins as I muster up enough energy to call another ignorant American to see if their services from the company that pays my company to pay me are ripping them off just enough to keep ‘em around. I take the one break I have been allotted, those 15 minutes just aren’t enough. I hate my pig of a boss and feel morally bankrupt accepting paycheques from him, sitting there with a smile on his face. Yeah buddy, you’re real cool. Seniority at a call center. Your wife must be proud.