What happens when an imaginative kid finds himself in a series of creatively bankrupt jobs as an adult? What will he do when he's forced to grow up? "Emblogification Capture Device" is a humorous exploration of education, career, employment, lifestyle, politics and pop culture.
I wrote the following poem about September 11'th 2001, which, co-incidentally, was also the weirdest working day of my entire natural life.
Just Call Me Nostradamus I was selling paper clips to a disembodied voice when the Twin Towers, Once mistaken for the pillars of Skull Island by the Mighty Kong, Evaporated into dust. "My brother's downtown!" it shrieked before the line went dead. To this day I'm convinced that Tibetan priests in Motuo knew what was happening before we did. Exiled in our hermetically-sealed vending machine, The only scraps of information came from troubled but resolute customers, Who, like spawning salmon, refused to acknowledge the end of the world until they fulfilled their destiny of procurement. A prototypical Arab Spring against the media blackout finally coalesced, And a cathode ray town crier was ensconced in an alcove of the commissary. Plates of gelatinous poutine went cold As we frittered away our state-sanctioned thirty minute lunch breaks Watching granite-faced news anchors gamely attempt to convince us that James Bond villains were very real indeed. And, for some reason, they all despise us. I stumbled back to my Potemkin-grey enclosure And re-assumed the mandible-crown. A fellow serf turned to me and asked: "What is it? What's going on?" And I looked at him and said: "America's going fascist." I then made myself ready To take endless orders For business-related detritus. Which, even on that sad day, Never stopped.
It's nearly impossible for me to conceive that it's been a full year since I tendered my resignation at my last place of employ. Honestly, I know I've kept busy and all but this time has flown by like a three-day weekend in Vegas.
So, with a full twelve months now in my rear-view mirror, I suppose I'm due to compose some thoughts of affirmation if only to convince myself that the time is well-accounted for, the decision was sound and I made the right call.
Too bad that, even after doing so, the jury's still somewhat out.
First off, here's some evidence for the defense; a listing of all the things I certainly wouldn't have done had I stayed the course this time last year:
Created the blog that you are now reading, which now warehouses 124 entries and has over eight-thousand visits. ¡Ay, caramba! Thanks, peoples...
Appeared (at least in theory) in three local film productions.
Met some amazing people like the band Weezer, Roy Batty/Shotgun-Armed Hobo Rutger Hauer and legendary Hollywood royalty Mickey Rooney.
Read my poetry and stories in front of several graciously charitable audiences.
Finally had another answer other then "Um, no" when people ask me "So, can I read this mythical book you supposedly wrote?" Now I can come back on the wise-asses with the infinitely more positive: "Why yes, yes you can...right here in fact!"
Designed a physical copy of the self-same book. With any luck I'll get the proof copy in the mail this week (fingers and various other appendages crossed).
Went through an extensive personal inventory that will eventually see me return in school in September.
Completed a six-week voice acting class which I'm hoping to parley into a few auditions (hopefully more on this later).
Shot video for a local commercial (again, details to follow).
Sat in on a pre-production meeting for a local short film slated to lens in a few months (also, hopefully, a future ECD entry).
Managed to get through winter without sporting the equivalent of a spare tire around my traditionally very sedentary mid-drift.
There's more but these things are what I'm particularly proud of. Thing is, however, with the world in it's current fix, will it be enough to justify leaving a job that paid so well for so little effort? Who cares if it was slowly causing my brain to atrophy? Who cares I couldn't come close to reconciling the effort I wanted to do with what was asked of me? Who cares if the job did me some physical harm? The more time that goes by, the more I realize that, ultimately, life still comes down to the filthy lucre...
Seriously, folks, it's great and all that I've self-published a book, but c'mon. If a tree falls in the forest and that tree is debarked, chipped, washed, bleached, beaten, refined, screened, pressed, dried, printed, made into paper then my book is printed on it and no-one reads it does it justify killing that poor tree in the first place?
Although the E-book is selling better then I expected, I got a loooooong way to go to move the ten-thousand copies that I believe will be needed to grab a traditional publisher by the lapels and yell with some authority: "Hey! Pay attention to me!" Unless I can do some pretty miraculous single-handed promotion for it over the next few months (or enter into a Faustian arrangement with dark forces for immediate financial stability), I'm afraid that it's gonna be all for naught.
I won't lie to you folks, I miss the endless wellspring of cold-hard cash. I did save a ton of money before telling my last employer to cram it with walnuts and I've tried to be very frugal over the past year. I really don't buy a ton of stuff, just the odd book, Blu-Ray, CD, movie/concert ticket, decent meal or board/video game.
Thank the Maker that I don't have expensive tastes. Mercifully my particular brand of mid-life crisis doesn't seem to involve splashy sports cars, powerboats, motorcycles, phat palatial mansions, hair plugs or bottles of cognac. Well, at least not yet.
No, honestly, the only real thing that I truly miss is the absence of travel in my life over the past two years. My last two trips (Scotland and Ireland in 2008 and London in 2009) were life-altering. I wanted to go AWOL at the time and now I'm desperate to go back. I want to tour the English countryside and poke around in Wales, one of my two ancestral places of origin. I want to spend at least half a month in France, Italy, Germany, Spain and Greece respectively. But given the current state of the union, I have no clue when I'll be able to do this again.
The net result: Happy Dave is starting to run out of happy...
Not to mention having to eschew those things that most people take for granted. Since I constantly felt like walking off the job for about five years before I finally pulled the trigger, my life in general has been in a holding pattern. No house, no kids, no major investments. Hell, I can't even ponder replacing my venerable, ole' 2003 Corolla, who, like it's owner, is gettin' kinda long in the tooth. I feel like I'm in limbo.
I dunno, maybe that's just the way it's supposed to be. Maybe that's the lot in life for most jobbers on this wacky planet. Perhaps all we're really supposed to do is toil away at some thankless, anonymous enterprise, trying to rake in as much coin as possible while occasionally eking out small blips of happiness between stretches of repetitive dreariness.
Some days I feel like I'll never be able to generate the sort of scratch I was making at my last job by doing creative things, things that I'm actually good at and feel happy doing. Right now I'm trying not to do the employment equivalent of jumping out of the frying pan and into the flash fryer. The jobs I'm applying for are gigs that I think I'm well-suited for and with companies that seem to enjoy a positive reputation for trusting and nurturing their employees.
If I can help it at all, I don't want to say the following words to a stranger ever again...
"Hi, thanks for calling (insert name of crappy call center employer here), my name is David. How can I debase myself today for your edification?"
I don't want to do it anymore because I honestly believe in my heart of hearts that I'm better then that. It's a waste of my unique (if decidedly modest) talents. It's not what I'm supposed to be doing with my life.
I know, I know. Eighty percent of humanity can probably make a similar claim.
Was this whole thing set off a year ago for the right reasons? Did I leave work because it was slowly killing me? Was it just because I was bored? Was it due to the fact that conditions were getting worse every year and no-one I talked to gave a crap about making it better? Was it to pursue ventures that I would never have gotten around to had I stayed the course?
Or did I leave because of some kind of midlife crisis? I hate to think that anyone would make a decision just because hair stops growing in places where it's supposed to and begins to seek out brave and creative new avenues.
But could it really have been something so shallow?
I'm hoping this debate winds down a bit when the demo copy of my book arrives in the mail sometime over the next week or so. Or I hope the parley is instantly silenced when someone of power and/or influence reads this blog, sees something with promise and decides to grant me some semblance of a palatable future.
Because just as sure as Dr. Johnny Fever refused to play disco tunes at W.K.R.P, I can't do call centers any more.
I'd rather sell vacuum cleaners door-to-door.
EPIC: One of the best episodes of one of the best sitcoms in T.V. history. I patterned large tracts of my early life after the teachings of John Caravella. Which I suppose goes to considerable lengths to explain my current fix...
Why hello there, Dedicated Followers of the Infinitely Ludicrous.
Thursday May 11'th 2000 began like any other day at the Sears Atlantic Call Center in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I came into work, hung up my jacket in the coat room ("Y'arrr!"), went upstairs, greeted my co-workers with a winning smile and proceeded to do what I did on any other day. I answered questions from my staff, joked around with them to perk up their spirits, thanked an employee for making an awesome mixed CD for me, and spoke with my fellow Coaches as to what our strategy was going to be for the day.
And then something weird happened. The tote board went down.
Now when I say weird, I mean, WEIRD. Like Clinton Portis weird. The tote board is the heart monitor for any call center, constantly displaying on-line staff count and how many calls, if any, are backed up. We'd seen odd things associated with the board before, like when we rolled the tote board with calls in queue during the busiest time of the Christmas season. But it had never just shut down before.
But it wasn't down for very long. Within minutes the following message began to display:
PLEASE GO DOWN TO THE CAFETERIA FOR A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
My heart froze in my chest. This didn't bode well.
Exchanging uneasy glances, the Coaches got our staff to log out of their phones and we led them downstairs, weathering a storm of questions along the way. I responded to them in the same manner I'd always been told by upper management to respond:
"Look, they keep telling us that we're the best center in the entire country, both in terms of customer satisfaction and profits. We're not going anywhere."
We all shuffled into the cafeteria like workers in the movie Metropolis. Just as soon as we entered the room, our spirits collectively brightened somewhat. The tables were covered with pristine white tablecloths, there were flowers in vases everywhere, snacks and beverages where arrayed all over the place and a microphone stand was set up smack dab in the middle of everything.
Like a moron I remember excitedly saying to everyone within earshot: "Oh my God! Look at this! They can't have all this stuff out if they plan to give us bad news! I bet they're gonna announce something awesome, like they found a new building for us. No, it's good news, just wait and see!"
Please keep in mind that, at that tender young age, I hadn't been to very many wakes.
We anxiously waited while district manager Greg Patterson took to the mike. Greg fit the classic Sears physical executive template: tall, good-looking, white and male. This template was so ingrained in the psychology of our HR department that a tall, good-looking, white, male friend of mine was actually propositioned by our HR department to enter the manager training program just because they saw him walk by one day (?).
Well, like an emotional roller coaster ride, our spirits began to take a collective dip when we noticed the expression on Greg's mustachioed and bespectacled face. He looked sheepish and apologetic even before he uttered a single word.
"Hello, everyone. Thanks for coming. Well, as you are well aware, this building had been for sale for quite some time. We've been advised by Real Estate that we'll be required to vacate this site by December 31'st, 2000. Knowing this, we've had to review all available options for the the business that operates from this site.
"For the Halifax Catalog Call Center, these option were:
to relocate the Call Center within Halifax
to expand existing call centers to cover business needs that are currently performed in Halifax.
After careful review, the decision is that effective December 31'st, 2000, the Catalog Call center in Halifax will be closed..."
Just as these words were uttered, hundreds of people in attendance took in a breath as if they'd been stabbed by something sharp. The crying began almost immediately. Patterson continued on after a brief pause.
"...and the work currently performed in Halifax will be moved to Montreal, Belleville and Regina. This decision in no way reflects the excellent efforts and performance of the dedicated associates in our Halifax Catalog Call Center."
The sniffling, wailing and hugging began in earnest. A handful of people confronted Patterson before he could get a few paces away from the mike stand. My reaction? No too dissimilar to this:
Actually, truth be told, I kinda got hung up on Stage Two. I remember stomping around, pacing back and forth and uttering a few choice epithets that I really can't repeat during the family hour. I certainly know that, even after all these years, I still haven't reached "Acceptance" yet since it would cause me to lose all faith in my fellow human being.
The reason I got locked into "Anger" is because of my own unwitting part in the deception. I'd been encouraged to lie to my associates by the powers that be, to tell them everything was going to be alright and that their jobs were safe. My mind reeled. Just by my actions alone how many of my people had passed up an opportunity to look for work when the rumors were at their worst? I felt sick to my stomach.
The experience of being in the cafeteria that day was one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It was crushing.
In an only vaguely related point, the reason I'll never vote for a dick like Stephen Harper is because I have a good memory. Back when his Alaskan-Malamute-peepered ass was a tub-thumping member of the Alliance Party (the closest our otherwise progressive country has come to harboring a group of neo-Nazis) this clique habitually referred to Maritimers as "lazy". This always burned my ass since unemployment rates are always inflated here because Maritime jobs have a tendency to gravitate back to Central Canada during times of economic recovery.
But here's a heart-rending fact: our staff was so professional that, a mere two hours after being told they were losing their jobs just after Christmas when bills would become due, they were back on the phones taking orders again. These people would doggedly continue to do their usual excellent job up until their final days there. Big business intended to treat them like chattel but they couldn't diminish their solid work ethic and pride in their jobs.
There were more shocks to come. After we'd all drifted back upstairs like wraiths and were politely told to act as if everything was still copacetic, "Mutt and Jeff" happened by and told us Coaches and Leads to start calling people at home to tell them that they were losing their jobs! I promptly invited these two clowns to go pound sand when they came around to me. I was officially done with doing the dirty work of corporate pinheads.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the media was now ensconced just outside the call center and asking completely oblivious staff such tactful questions as : "So, how do you feel after hearing you're losing your job?" just as they were coming into work for the day. They hadn't even heard the announcement yet.
Here's how our local newspaper The Chronicle Herald reported the story the following day:
SEARS TO HANG UP ON CALL CENTER May 12, 2000
837 people to lose jobs by year's end
Sears Canada confirmed months of rumors Thursday, announcing it will close its Halifax call center by year's end, throwing 837 people out of work.
The retail giant has received roughly $1 million in government incentives since it opened the call center here in 1992. And government officials were still trying to tabulate late Thursday how much it received in tax credits.
Company officials said the center is being closed as part of a corporate plan to intensify Sears' e-commerce operations that can't be done here.
"This is really part of a longer-term strategic decision (that) relates to our customers and the evolution of our business to the Internet," said Scott Marshall, vice president of online sales for Sears Canada.
The Sears building has reportedly been acquired by an Ontario pension fund, which owns the Halifax Shopping Center, as part of the deal to move Sears into the shopping center. Mr. Marshall could not confirm these reports, saying the deal is confidential.
Sears talked with the province last fall to see if the jobs could be saved, but by January no deal had been reached, he said.
"(We said) we would like to know what could be possible to keep the call center. It just didn't work."
Sears, which knew the call center's business would be winding down by 2002 because of the upswing in online sales, wanted to find a partner to take over the employees, he said.
"We were prepared to put in our calls over the next couple of years...We thought there should be a new call center created (using Sears' workload and staff). We were saying 'Can you find a call center...that wants...to come to Halifax.'"
The government proposed re-locating the call center elsewhere in the province, and also put forth another idea, but Sears couldn't see either working, he said. He would not outline the government's second suggestion and didn't know where the other location might be.
An angry call center worker said the retailer's decision was made in bad faith.
"They kept us in the dark," said the employee, who asked not to be named. "They dropped this bombshell on us."
The worker says the decision saves "a few extra bucks on the balance sheet."
"They turned their backs on the province and taken the money and run. They made us feel there was a sense of permanence."
The call center job is the primary source of revenue for many of the part-timers, he said.
Some workers could transfer to the company's other call centers and Sears is contacting other centers to see if they can hire staff, Mr. Marshall said. Job counseling will also begin.
He said the company might have entertained staying if the government had offered more.
"Had they come forward and offered more incentives, we would have considered (it)."
Otherwise, the company couldn't justify moving and readying another call center in this area after the Sears building was sold, he said.
Economic Development Minister Gordon Balser confirmed the province asked Sears if it wanted to move to another part of Nova Scotia.
"That wasn't part of what they were considering," he said. "They simply had taken the decision to get out of the business that they were currently in."
Mr. Balser said the province has gotten its money's worth from Sears.
"The company, Sears, has had an eight-year history with the province and we're pleased to think that over that length of time it would have had a net benefit to the province in terms of tax revenue and employment opportunities and ripple effects."
Mr. Marshall said the retailer gave the government a "60-to-1" return on its investment, handing out $43 million in payroll since 1992.
"The agreement there was that the call center would exist for three years," he said.
Mr. Balser said he believes the province gave Sears roughly $1 million between 1992 and 1994.
"There are also tax credits allocated to the operation and we're internally trying to determine exactly what that constitutes in dollar value."
NDP Leader Robert Chisholm wasn't suprised to hear the news.
"This is a very unstable type of business. It's transitory," Mr. Chisholm said.
"They're going to move whenever they feel it will best serve their interests. The money from the taxpayers in this juristiction has run out and they will move somewhere else."
Mr. Marshall said Sears' growing e-commerce business is expected to generate $650 million in sales over the next three years.
"Our business has been in a continuous evolution. That's why we've been able to survive."
Welly, well, well, well. Ain't that somethin'?
The article does a great job intimating the real reasons for the move. The most galling thing about it is, however, is just how successful the corporate and government spin was in convincing readers that the whole operation was temporary and had a limited shelf life.
Here are some points to consider after reading this article:
Revenue for the phone-in catalog enterprise topped $1.45 billion in 1999 and the call centers were tasked to handle about 23 million calls per year. At the time we lost our jobs, customers that went to the Sears website couldn't confirm item availability, get delivery dates, or find answers to even the most basic customer service inquiries.
Marshall later claimed that the catalog division would suffer a 30% downswing in productivity as the Internet gained more dominance as a ordering channel and that relocating the Halifax call center "made no sense". What he fails to address is why a comparable amount of staff was re-hired in Belleville, why the Halifax site still hired a slew of people that Christmas season and how service would be impacted for a huge segment of their customer population (I.E. seniors) who couldn't afford or operate a computer.
There were a lot of headlines around that time regarding major government grants being doled out to already profitable operations such as ICT group and Sobeys, which give a lot of credence to the theory that Sears just didn't get a sweet enough deal from the province of Nova Scotia and decided to go home to Ontario. Did John Hamm's Tories opt not to continue the eight-year legacy of Sears' extortion that the Liberals had been forced to swallow, for fear that the company would up and leave? Did the Tories refuse (as they should have!) to construct a free new home for the already wealthy company, giving Sears ample reason to pull out and leave it's associates in the lurch?
The old call center building was pretty dilapidated. For example, it wasn't unusual for you to come in for work at seven o'clock in the morning and sweep mouse crap off the edge of you desk with a piece of paper before you started your day. IMHO a new building wasn't even necessary. There were plenty of vacant existing structures that we could have moved into. One day of promotional sales profits from the Halifax staff would have been enough to refurbish an existing space and reward their diligence at the same time.
Management also tried to argue that customers could call the same 1 (800) number and expect the same great service from the Belleville, Montreal and Regina sites. Why then, did droves of customer in Ontario call up in the weeks and months that followed to lodge a complaint as to why the friendliest and most adept people they'd ever had the pleasure of dealing with over the phone were losing their jobs? I mean, if you can't expect a company with such a family-oriented face and an internal commitment to be a "great place to work" to mirror this in their business practices, then who will? In the months after the announcement I really expected the company to change it's motto to "Come See the Strong-Arm Side of Sears".
The corporate weasels also made a case that this was the best solution in the long run. But was it just the best solution for the company? Was the fate of the people that helped propel it to dizzying heights of profit considered for even a moment? Downsizing set the trend in the Early Nineties but the two Sears examples show the difference between questionable necessity (having to close down the Halifax warehouse) versus the rank odor of greed (the closure of the call center). After all, it wasn't as if the company could throw it's books open, point to record losses and claim that cutbacks were needed to financially stay afloat. A mere month before closure was announced, Sears announced it's 11'th consecutive quarter of record revenues and earnings.
Our esteemed Econimic Minister at the time Gordon Ball-less...er, Balser, claimed that we should have felt privileged to have had Sears grow prosperous off the backs of Maritime labor for as long as it did. I wonder if he had a hard time sleeping at all after trying to persuade the general public and the people downsized that we were lucky to have had the benefit of 800 "seasonal jobs" for eight years. I'll tell ya right now, if this dude had come into our call center and tried to convince people that their jobs were just "seasonal" he wouldn't have gotten out alive.
Job loss is sometimes so prevalent that the sheer number of people effected starts to sound abstract and intangible. But there were lives that were impacted. Do companies truly believe that the extinction of nearly a thousand part-time jobs (including a scant handful of full-time jobs) won't have an impact on a local economy that's already economically depressed? Do they honestly believe that it won't have an effect on divorce rates, substance abuse, chronic depression, crime, suicide and other societal ills?
Sears still needed people to man those phones after December 31'st, 2000. Why not reward eight years of dedicated service on the part of Maritimers who undoubtedly contributed to the resuscitation of a company that was on the downswing in the early Nineties? Why not re-train most of them to answer internet inquiries? While the sale of the retail space might be considered one solution, it was cheap, maximized the company's overhead and left a lot of earnest, hard working people feeling like washed up failures.
My anger over this just wouldn't subside. I sent a pleading letter to my MP at the time but got no response back. It seemed nobody cared.
Months wore on and the mood in the center became more and more oppressive. By the end of the summer the place had become a karmic minefield. In retrospect I probably should have tried to stick it out, taken the laughably small severance package and perhaps gone back to school to try and generate some biddable skills for myself. Unfortunately I just couldn't preside over the work environment equivalent of watching a once-vibrant family member waste away in a coma, so I eventually jumped ship to the next call center that would take me.
But before I left I came across an old "Rudy The Rumor Buster" sheet and decided to do my own custom parody with it. This is what I came up with and stuck back up on the bulletin board:
The strategies that "Sears" adopted in the mid-Nineties worked like gangbusters (or Ghostbusters if you're under thirty). Customers who had grown up trusting the "Sears" name implicitly but had since grown disillusioned with the company's lack of modern appeal and organization embraced these excuses to return and they did so in droves.
The venerable but neglected catalog division became the retail equivalent of Lazarus rising from the dead. The retail stores learned to maximize it's profits in terms of floor space (constructing a series of "Whole Home" furniture and appliance stores as a result), refurbished their presentation and began to stock popular brand names.
It could be argued that the revival of the retail half of "Sears" was a foregone conclusion. What no-one could have foreseen was just how dramatically the catalog division turned around.
As I detailed in a previous entry, Telephone Sales Representatives with the catalog call centers were expected to perform non-commission add-on sales when customers called to place their orders. New staff, eager to please, often sold in excess of $10.00 of extra sales PER HOUR, effectively paying their own wages in the process. They were also asked to promote the "Sears Charge Card" as well and were rewarded with a small dividend if they successfully signed a customer up. It's been alleged that raw profits from the interest generated by "Sears Cards" alone was a major factor in the company's relative stability during the worst days of the recession.
"Sears" began announcing quarterly profits instead of losses again. In 1994, the Liberal government in Nova Scotia offered an additional $700,000 in grants to "Sears" keep the operation locked in place for the time being. Staff, bolstered by their own success, began to think of work at the call center as long-term. This was still before the arrival of competing call centers like "Matrix" and "Convergys" and many of us were heartened somewhat by that old Maritime mantra:
"Don't complain, you're lucky to have a job at all!"
People working at "Sears" part-time, with their incomes supplemented by other negligible gigs, began investing in their futures. They bought homes, cars, started families and pursued other avenues usually afforded to the average industrious employee.
The winning streak continued. In time "Sears" stock peaked at $30.00 a share. Quarter after quarter of record profits were recorded. In 1998, Paul Walters collected a $2.84 million dollar paycheck for his insight.
For the employees that had so successfully helped to execute Walter's plans, the rewards were considerably more humble. Very few TSR's that started with the call center eight years prior saw their hours increase beyond twenty-five a week and fewer still saw their rate of pay climb above the $8.00 mark. The company health plan through Clarica/Sun Life was still impractical for many, often costing monthly premiums in excess of $40.00 for even the most rudimentary coverage.
These sort of jobs led to media to christian a new segment of the population in the mid-Nineties: "The Working Poor."
Personally, I was financially afloat but little else. A more immediate concern was nagging at me. I was becoming increasingly bored taking one identical "Sears" catalog order after another or having bizarre interactions with customers like this one:
ME: "Sears, David, how can I help you?
INSANE CUSTOMER: (screaming at top of lungs) "ALRIGHT, LISTEN HERE! I'VE CALLED ABOUT THIS THREE TIMES ALREADY AND YOU GODDAMN WELL BETTER DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT THIS TIME!!! IF YOU DON'T COME AND GET THIS (expletive deleted) TELEVISION SET OUT OF MY (expletive deleted) HOUSE TODAY IT'S GOING IN THE (expletive deleted) GARBAGE!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!!?"
ME: "Uh, yes, sir...I can help you with that. I just need your..."
Suddenly I hear a *SLAM* as the phone receiver crashed down on the cradle.
I sat there stunned for a moment. This clown had called me, freaking out over what I presumed was a pick-up issue but didn't give me so much as a name, phone number or any piece of identification to bring up his file to help him. Little wonder no-one did anything the past three times he called! Did he think we could see him automatically with some sort of magical phone-cam or omniscient database?
I was beginning to resent people. Or more accurately I was beginning to resent their misplaced rage over inconsequential stuff. I would take umbrage at their ignorance. I was beginning to despise their propensity to haggle over the price of things I had no control over:
This was underscored in the fall of 1995 when I made the mistake of agreeing to participate in a "pilot project". Just for the record, kiddies, "pilot project" is often code for "crap your employer can't pawn off on smarter people". But with my Dad screaming "TAKE EVERY SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT YOUR BOSS ASKS YOU TO DO AND YOU'LL BE SURE TO GET AHEAD" in my ear I offered my assistance.
Well, as it turned out the fly-by-night outfit that held the contract to do residential and commercial carpet cleaning for "Sears" in the United States decided to close their doors overnight. That left thousands of royally pissed-off Americans in the lurch and without a place to call to vent their Herculean levels of pent-up rage.
Sooooo, the General Manager of "Sears Catalog Atlantic" graciously offered us polite but dim Canadian heifers up for the sacrifice.
And it was baaaaad. Really bad. We knew it was going to be bad when two dodgy characters from Canway/Continental (the local Canadian wing of "Sears Carpet Cleaning") came in to try and co-ordinate the thing. They made carnival workers look like cast members from "The Apprentice".
And they were completely disorganized. Essentially all we did was fill out one complaint sheet after another all day long. I have no idea what became of the paperwork since it just sat there until the end of the day when "Boris and Natasha" finally decided to pile it all up on a rolling cart and tote it away in the freight elevator. We had absolutely no power as "Sears" representatives to take action or promise anything to the poor, frustrated bastards that called us.
We had three possible forms to fill out: one for people calling who were upset but coherent, one form for clients who were spittin' nails and one form for callers who were threatening to "go public" with the media or claimed to know Oprah Winfrey on a personal level.
I'm telling you right now, this is no word of a lie. You can't make this s#!@ up.
Some of these people were justifiably angry. For example, I might be calling because I had an appointment Saturday for "Sears Carpet Cleaning" to come out and do my rugs because my house is going on the market Monday morning and I have a whole week's worth of viewings scheduled . Now it's Sunday night, no-one showed up, and I've called what I think is the U.S. division of "Sears Carpet Cleaning" but no-one can give me the slightest idea as to when my carpets will be cleaned or if I'll get any compensation at all for the delay.
All we could do was apologize incessantly, take threats seriously and reach for form number three when the customer was calling from Chicago, Illinois mere moments away from "Harpo Studios".
"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm just going to grab my pen and a form here. Continue berating me with the same sort of creativity you've already exhibited and also feel free to tell me that you personally know Oprah and that Stedman used to be in the Army and he will kill me with his bare hands if he catches up to me."
It was so bad that, months later, the same General Manager that suckered into the debacle in the first place wrote what amounts to a letter of apology:
"Just a short note to thank you for your participation in the 'Sears Carpet Cleaning' insourcing project.
"Both call volumes and Project duration were badly underestimated and some of the commitments we made to customers, in good faith, were not deliverable by Canway/Continental, and this was disappointing. What was not disappointing, however, was Sears Associate performance. Upon short notice and limited training, you and your team displayed your customer service skills, in handling many difficult inquiries as well as your selling skills in completing sales for Canway/Continental.
"Your performance reinforces our strong belief that we have the team that is flexible and capable to handle other insourcing opportunities in the future."
Hmmmmm, threat or promise?
I soon resolved myself get away from the phones as much as possible, if only for my mental health. In the Fall of 1997 I was recommended for an instruction program which would allow me to help train new hires once completed.
As soon as I participated in my first training class all of a sudden the clouds parted and the angels began to sing. I was in heaven.
I'd found my calling. This was reflected in an "Associate Recognition" comment card from my managers:
"David, the job you did during training was super. Your knowledge and helpfulness will benefit all. Thanks so much."
In 1997 here's what they wrote in the comments section in one of my typically-stellar performance appraisals: (*Toot! Toot!*)
"Another outstanding effort in '97, David. Huge increase in 43's (That's Media 43's, or our add-one sales - your humble narrator) from last year and accounts are well above call center average! David, you've proven to be a great asset to 'Sears' with super customer service skills as well as aiding in the training of new TSA's. Thanks, David, for a super year."
Despite the head-swelling praise, my reply to this in the "Associate Comments" field clearly exhibits growing frustration with the added duties and very little in the way of compensation to show for it:
"My part-time hours at 'Sears' are not supplemented by any other income. I'm not living on student loans, I'm not living at home and I don't have another part-time job. The money I make here goes to bills, rent and student loan payments.
"After three years at 'Sears', my financial prospects look discouraging. The cost of living continues to increase and my salary remains relatively fixed. I would like like to be afforded the same prospects as most people. I would like to own a car some time in the future, consider living in a better place, possibly travel.
"Right now, however, this doesn't seem possible. Having said that, I would hope that these goals are achievable here at 'Sears'. It's still the best place I've ever worked and I love the people I work with.
"I would also like to thank those responsible to suggesting my name for training new TSA's. This was the single most enjoyable time I've had here at 'Sears'. I would love to be considered for future assignments and would like to take this opportunity to thank my coaches for their trust.
"Hopefully the results of my recent review will display my commitment to this company as well as show my value as an employee. I remain hopeful and positive about the future and my prospects here."
But it was not to be. Training was over for the time being so I was back on the phones for every shift.
Make the best of it, in July of 1997 I received a slip of paper signed by the call center manager that read "effective June 29'th 1997 your hourly rate will be adjusted from $7.40 to $7.62."
Wow. Now I could buy that newspaper I always wanted...
Realizing that I couldn't survive financially much longer on my current hours and wages I resigned myself to the same inevitable action that every young, upwardly-mobile company drone was expected to do.
I would take my first tentative step up the corporate ladder. I would be one with the "Sears".
FAIL: Contrary to the title, I don't think this is very funny. On the contrary, for anyone who's been on the receiving end of customer abuse this will surely chill you to the bone, cause you to tuck into a fetal position and/or result in profuse cold sweats...
Despite the dearth of training I was quickly flushed with immediate success in my (admittedly) simple new role as a Telephone Sales Representative for "Sears Canada Catalog". Early monitoring reports came back with "Aw, shucks"-inducing praise like "Excellent TSA! Very good with customers!"
But the job quickly became repetitive. I'd say that about 90% of the inbound calls to our toll-free number were to place an order. The structure of the call rarely deviated from this:
TSR: "'Sears', this is Shekie, how can I help you?"
CUSTOMER: (in heavy Newfoundland accent) "Yes, my dear, listen...I wants to place a horder on me budget."
TSR: "You mean your 'Sears Card'?"
CUSTOMER: "Yes, me 'Sears Card, 'das what I said."
TSR: "Okay, could I get the card number, please?"
CUSTOMER: "Okay, 'old on now while I gets it..."
(Sound of the phone receiver being set down on table then slowly sliding off from the weight of the cord. The TSR's hermetically headset-sealed ear is assaulted with a horrible 'THUNK!' as the receiver hits the floor. Slipper sounds can be heard scuffing across the floor. The distinctive sound of a purse being unzipped can be detected amidst the random mutterings. This is eclipsed by scratch muffled noises as the receiver is picked back up)
CUSTOMER: "Oh my dear Lard, I dropped the foam! You still there, Bucky?!"
TSR: "Yes, Ma'am, I'm still here. Take your time, there's no rush"
CUSTOMER: "Okay, I got's the number for you right 'ere!"
CUSTOMER: "Yes, 'by, i's R.R.Two, Box Farty-Far, Jerry's Nose, and the hairea code is 'Hay-two-hen, far dubya far!"
TSR: "Thanks, Mrs. Fudge. So, just to confirm this will be going out on your Sears Card to the catalog pick up desk in 'Budgell's Convenience and Bait Shop'?"
CUSTOMER: "Yes, me lover."
TSR: (shuddering from 'lover' reference) "Okay, I just need your first nine-digit catalog item number."
CUSTOMER: "Right on! I's tree, nine, tree..."
(fast forward)
CUSTOMER: "...two, tree, two."
TSR: "Ooooooo, I'm sorry, Mrs. Fudge. It appears as if that item is currently not available."
CUSTOMER: "Oh, s#!%! Any clue as to when yer gonna get mar of 'em?"
TSR: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Fudge. If our buyers know when we're going to get more they usually give us a back order date, but it's just saying 'not available' I'm afraid."
CUSTOMER: "Jasus! I just got the friggin' catalog 'de udder day!"
TSR: (exhaling a pronounced sigh) "Well, our catalogs are sometimes made up six months to a year in advance and sometimes it takes a little bit of time to get the inventory from the..."
CUSTOMER: (interrupting) "Sure, 'das alright, me love. I'll try 'dis one now...six, hate, one..."
(repeat previous conversation two more times until...)
TSR: "Alright! Finally! That's a vista blue mica-colored wool, um...dickey. Uh-huh. Whatever that is, it's available and it's scheduled to arrive in, um...Jerry's NoseOctober the 16'th."
CUSTOMER: "Alright then. It's not the friggin' color I wants, but I'll take it."
TSR: "And your next catalog item number, ple...'
CUSTOMER: "No, by, das all fer nowsince das the only friggin' thing you got dat I wanted."
TSR: "And would you like to hear about our exclusive phone sales today?"
CUSTOMER: "No, 'by, I already gots a foam."
TSR: "No, Ma'am, it's not a phone on sale, these are sales we have on various items available only to our telephone customers."
CUSTOMER: "Ohhhhhhhh! I sees. I never 'eard about dat before, whattaya got?"
TSR: "Well, we've got a 'Shinsonic' brand piston engine on sale, normally seven-hundred and ninety-nine dollars down to forty-nine, ninety nine..."
CUSTOMER: "Oh my Dear Lard! Why the frig would I want dat for?"
TSR: "Well, it would make a great centerpiece if you ever wanted to build a replica of an ancient Roman sawmill, or if you wanted to power a torpedo, for example. Plus, just look at that deal! It was normally eight hundred dollars now it's under fifty bucks!"
(momentary silence save for a horde of hitherto unheard youngsters in the background who all start crying on cue chorus-style in for attention)
CUSTOMER: "Yes, 'by, dat's a good deal, iddin it? T'row one of them on the horder dere, Bucky!"
TSR: "Okay, Mrs. Fudge, with the piston engine on there, your order total is eighty-three fifty-two."
CUSTOMER: "SHUT UP!!!" (Customer makes vain attempt to cover phone receiver as an afterthought. TSR is startled by the unexpected burst of rage and dribbles water down his shirt. Customer turns attention back to TSR) "Sorry about 'dat, my dear, it's a friggin' nut 'ouse 'ere. EMMELINE! Pass me dat pen and a tablet before I gives you a dallar." (sound of customer snatching pen from pad from hands of confused child) "Alright, 'ow much was 'dat total again?"
TSR: "Eighty-three fifty-two."
CUSTOMER: "And when is it comin' in?"
TSR: "October the 16'th."
CUSTOMER: "Right on, Cocky! 'Tanks for yer time! Bye, bye!"
TSR: "Good bye, Mrs. Fudge and thanks for calling... "
(Cue "click" sound as receiver is hung up, drowned out by sound of TSR banging head on desk)
TSR: "...Sears'!"
Okay, so I've exaggerated a bit for comedic effect, but believe me when I tell you that I'm not very far off the mark here.
In order to stave off the sort of unique madness that can only come from taking one nigh-identical catalog order after another, you had to be creative to amuse yourself. Now, you weren't allowed to read a book (other than a catalog) because "Sears" obviously had no interest in paying you if you deriving any sort of self-enrichment or pleasure while you worked.
Now this didn't stop you from trying to stow a book under the sliding keyboard tray like a copy of "Barely Legal Asians", which allowed you to read a paragraph or two on the sly between calls. In doing so, you ran the terrible risk of being caught. If one particular manager (who, rumor had it, used to work at a woman's prison) caught you reading she'd publicly debase you as if she'd caught you playing with yourself. Eventually I began to refer to her as "Ilsa: She-Wolf of the S.S" (the "S.S." stood for "Sears Seniors").
So, naturally, because you couldn't read quietly at your station, you'd end up speaking boisterously to a co-worker. In fact, your peers became your greatest source of entertainment. One game we used to play to keep ourselves sane was to challenge someone to shoe-horn a certain word into a conversation with a customer. Some words (like "lantern", for example) might be easy because it was an item in our list of sales, but I'd always try to nail my buddy Jason with real crazy shit like "hovercraft".
And the fool would manage to do it somehow. During an inevitable lull in the conversation (say when the customer was looking up an item number), Jason would ask how things were in Calgary or wherever the client was calling from. He did so, knowing full well that the customer would say something like "Good...where are you at?"
Then my boy would go to work:
"Oh, I'm here in Halifax. Have you ever been to Halifax? It's beautiful, especially down around the waterfront. I was down there the other day, and you wouldn't believe it, some crazy guy was piloting a hovercraft in and around the ferry until the harbor police told him to stop."
Just like on "Pee-Wee's Playhouse" as soon as one of us said the secret word it would be complete and total bedlam in our isle until a manager was dispatched down to shush us! I'm sure the customer's heard us and thought we were all nuts.
One aspect of the job that I embraced to try and stave off the mental cobwebbery was the add-on and credit card sales. Most sensible and ethical souls steered clear of this like latrine duty, but, oh no, not this good little soldier.
So basically, in averaging $19.55 in add-on sales per hour, I was likely paying my own sweat-shop wage of $7.40 an hour (and this was actually up slightly from the starting rate.)
And that's nothing! I have a document here which shows years later that one of the women on the team I was coaching at the time was selling $70.00 extra per hour. Let me say that again: $70.00 extra per hour!Sweet Jezum crow!
We were also asked to promote the Sears Credit Card as well, and usually got a $5.00 kicker for each suck...er, customer's neck we managed to hang this dead albatross of interest around. I don't know exactly what the interest rate was when I was flogging it but in 2006 it was a criminally high 28.74%!
Now I did these things in good conscience because:
My parents beat a near-fanatical work ethic into my head that told me to do what your employers asked of you without question. Historians could have a field day correlating this sort of attitude to Germany in the 1930's.
I was soon totally bored with the mechanical, by-rote nature of only taking catalog orders
Since "Sears" had been so kind as to hire my ass after so many terrible and borderline abusive situations I was quick to ask "how high" when my employment "Big Brother" ordered me to jump.
In other words, I was mindlessly swilling the "Sears" kool-aid like it was rum and coke.
Next up I'll tell you what it was like working working at "Sears" when that accursed "Wish Book" landed every year. Here's a sneak preview: it sucked.
