You've Got To Be Shitting Me
Today at my wonderous corporate conglomerate I was forced to attend an hour long training session on our about to be newly installed phone systems. We are going from an antique sets, most of which are yellow from age and look like they have bounced down several flight of stairs. The new phones, are sleek, state-of-the art technological devices that offer direct interface to our also about to be newly installed software system.
Being in a position of authority, I found it wholly necessary to actually pay attention during the afore mentioned training class, so I injected a can of Dr. Pepper straight into my veins and trotted to the training room pen in hand and preparing to take notes on these uber complicated telecomunication devices.
Not suprisingly I over-estimated the training department. As it turns out, the devices we were trained on are...phones... You know, press a button, dial a number. Press a button answer call. Press a button and you log out and press another one and you log in. HOWEVER, the hoopla over the training stems from the fact that the base functionality of button pressing is completely opposite of the ones we use now; in short, if you press a button under the old way of thinking, you will hang-up on the money giving customers, instead of putting them on hold. Within five minutes of the class starting, I realized this was a DE-programing class and not a training session. This realization allowed me to flirt shamelessly with a newly hired sales rep, who dresses and smells very nice, but has really creepy eyes. Sort of like her skin is pulled to tight and they bug out of her head. Plus she has one of those really "gummy" smiles, but hey, I'm all about making new contacts.
A sad post note follows. There were actually a couple of employees that have been with the company an extremly long time (never managing to get promoted, mind you) that struggled to grasp the concept of operating these new phones. They left the training area grumbling under there breath and not comprehending even the most basic concepts. These are the same folks you will find struggling to find the "end" button on a cell phone, the same people that can't operate cable remote controls and probably the same people that end up in Darwin awards and on Fark.com sporting headlines like, "women electrecutes self, cat while blow drying hair in shower".
It's kind of scary to think that some of these people that are gainfully employed by the corporate shipping machine have control over the lives of people. One of the agents in question could re-route an orgran for a liver transplant to Timbuktu or send your birth certificate to Siberia (both of which we ship to, btw). They have the ability to create paperwork that can expidite your shipment of priceless artwork from Krakow or fuck it up to the point where customs will stop it, confiscate it and burn it.
But the scariest thing for me, dearest of diaries, is that I have to drive on the same city streets with these retards. Cuz if these people can't figure out how to operate a telephone, I don't even want to think about them trying to watch televesion commercials in their mini-vans, while chatting on cellular devices, poilicing the kids in the back seat and making a left turn in front of just as I look up with just enough time to think to msyelf, "you stupid fucking bi...."
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