“Why I Hate Answering the Phone”: A Story About Work
Dear erratic possibly-possessed, asshole who called me today at work just to scream at me for 20 minutes (also known as Tom Johnston),
Thank you. I have been waiting for a reason to cry at work for months now, but I could never find one. I don’t know what I would have had to do if you hadn’t been transferred to my desk to interrupt my pleasant mood with your ill-conceived attempt at being a human being. Thrown myself down a flight of stairs? Stapled my face? Nope. Didn’t have to. Your phone call made tears possible without self-mutilation, and I thank you for that.
I want you to know, that I appreciate all that you bring to the world. Your problems are my fault, really. I’m sorry I ever doubted the role I played in your 46 years of misery on this planet. Clearly if I could sacrifice my entire existence for one moment of your happiness, I would, but I am certain it would never be enough. So I’d like to apologize to you for your life.
I’m sorry. Truly I am. I am sorry that a GED has only earned you $150,000 working on Wall Street, (although a terrible fate for a high school drop-out, this could explain a lot about the downfall of the American economy). I am sorry that your son, the consumer of my company’s product, could not talk to you openly about his decision to purchase it. You are after all, such a warm and sensitive man. Any child would be poorly lacking without you in their life.
But mostly, sir, I feel sorry for you. There, I said it. Because after I stopped crying and your intrusive phone call stopped replaying in my head, I went back to being me, and you are stuck being you, an overpaid, nasty, rapid baboon of a person, whose personal life is so out of reach your only solace is to interject 20 minutes of unprecedented rudeness into another person’s life, via telephone calls. I may make a quarter of what you make, with double the education, but I’m far better off than you’ll ever be.
Plus you’re a raging c***.
Love,
The girl too stubborn to hang up, too sensitive to brush it off
Posted on January 21, 2013, in life lessons I never wanted to learn, Uncategorized and tagged angry customers, customer service, humor, job, letter, letter to customer, mean people, rude phone calls, satire, screaming, work, work stories, yelling. Bookmark the permalink. 14 Comments.
You’re brilliant.
Only in the morning. Thanks
lol
The world is filled with little people with little minds who point fingers everywhere but at themselves when things go wrong.
And they all seem to point them at me!
Anything that ends with “Plus…” is bound to be good…
Anything that starts with C and ends with *** is bound to be fantatstic.
Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!! *falls over in chair*
Don’t censor yourself. You can say it. He deserves it.
My mother’s reading! Or so she says.
I deal with these baboons, too. I work at a tax firm as a receptionist, even though I have two degrees. It is always great fun then when some jerk who owns a multi-million dollar company calls and tries to blame me for some issue with his tax returns, as if I don’t already hate my job and my lot in life enough.
Our jobs are probaly quite similar in levels of awfulness. I feel for you. But doesn’t calling them baboons make you feel better automatically?
It sounds like Mr. Johnston takes being a c*** very seriously and passionately. It’s incredible what people will fly off the handle over, but you’re right — the best part of all of it is that are the end of the day, he’s a dick and you’re not. I feel considerably bad for Mrs. Johnston (if there is one). He probably spends most nights complaining about his lost youth and increasing issue with hemorrhoids.
There isn’t one. He’s divorced, which he surprisingly didn’t blame me for. But I’m sure his hemorrhoids are keeping him warm at night. Or at least not lonely.
Thanks for the support