Call Centre Blues.

I work in a call centre. If you don’t know what a call centre is, it’s basically a building where working class people go to hate themselves. It’s a cathedral of self-hate where one bows down at the god of bad decisions praying for mercy. It’s an arena of employment where in the first five minutes of a shift, you’re called a ‘useless twat’ by Janet from Glasgow because her anti-wrinkle cream hasn’t arrived in time. You bite your tongue due to the fact that you need food and shelter to sustain your own bleak existence, but your inner voice has just attacked Janet from Glasgow with such violence that if you said it out loudly you would surely be arrested. “WELL FUCK YOU JANET. I HOPE YOUR WRINKLED BODY IS FOUND IN A DITCH.” And all this before most people have had their morning orange juice.

A typical day sort of goes like this:

9:00 AM: Clock in.

9:01 AM – 4:59 PM: Regret life choices. Eat sad sandwich. Weep in bathroom.

5:00 PM: Clock out.

As you can imagine, I hate it and I’m trying to escape. Every day I wake up and in the optimism of those morning hours, I tell myself that this will be the day I finally set myself free of those call centre chains. I excitedly rush to my laptop to find what new adventure I can ride on this game we call capitalism. But then it strikes. That old familiar feeling of insecurity. The lack of self confidence that prevents me from actually applying for anything. I don’t know where it comes from. But it’s there. Just waiting for me to scroll down the list of opportunities that could grant me freedom.

I could literally see a job position that would look like this:

“Breathing: Looking for an experienced breather to simply breath all day.”

Suddenly I’m hovering above the role, my cursor waiting for me to make the next move, when I begin questioning my ability to breath.

“Is breathing one of my strong skills?”

“Do I need more experience breathing?”

“Perhaps I get some more breathing skills by volunteering at the weekends?!”

I then regress into this sorry excuse of man who finds himself making excuses why I don’t have the balls to apply for an entry level position and why working in a call centre isn’t quite that bad. Disguising my lack of confidence with a little moustache and pretending it’s just my ego not being content with being employed.

Perhaps working in a call centre isn’t all that bad. I mean, I have a roof over my head and I’m paid more than minimum wage, but on a deeper level, it’s unfulfilling, it’s monotonous. Humans are creative animals. We want to explore our minds. We want to share ideas. We don’t want to sit down and stare at a computer screen for eight hours repeating the same task over and over again. It’s unnatural and creates unhappiness. Just look at chimps in zoos. They lack so much stimulation that they throw their own shit at us. I don’t want to throw my shit at anyone.

Well, except maybe Janet from Glasgow.

FUCK YOU JANET FROM GLASGOW.

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