Call Centre Awfulness
This is my tale of customers from Hell. The weren't awful customers because they were moaning shitehawks or rampant wanksocks. It was the circumstances involved that made this a particular nightmare.

I worked in a call centre at the time for a well-known mobile company, let's call them Slag Mobile to protect names (subtle, subtle).

I was working the evening shift until 1am. It has been a normal evening, veering wildly between bewildered old dears who couldn't figure out which button was the spacebar, and psychotic businessmen who could no more do without their phone than Ron Jeremy would do without his cock.

Then, at around 10:10 I received a call. I attempted to remove all traces of boredom and apathy from my voice, and reeled off the welcome spiel in a voice dripping with false enthusiasm.

There was silence for a few, somewhat eerie seconds. This was follwed by an almost imperceptible sob. Here we fucking go, some little kid's out of credit, I thought.
Eventually there was a voice, definitely an adult female, but audibly upset.

To cut the story short, the woman had called earlier to sort out her voicemail as there was a message she couldn't retrieve. Unfortunately she had gotten through to one of the many fuckwits employed by Slag and been given some poor advice.

I soon ascertained that she would have to be put through to the technical services department, which had conveniently closed at 10:00. Has she phoned 10 minutes earlier the story would have ended there.

The woman burst into tears. She was replaced by a volcanically angry bloke. This fellow turned out to be her husband. In between cursing myself, Slag in general, and the bearded shit-balloonist himself, for a shower of cunts, he explained that his wife's brother had been in a car accident and the voicemail was news on his condition.

For ten minutes I tried to explain that there was nothing I could do for them at that time. The more upset his wife became, the more incandescent he got. Eventually, the woman had dissolved into a bizarre, lupine keening sound while he yelled, "Are you fucking happy? Are you fucking happy?" at me. I felt the smallest I have ever felt in my life before or since.

Then a house phone rang in the background. The bloke paused from berating me to answer it.

The woman's brother had died.

The woman upped the grief another notch, wailing like a banshee that got caught in it's zip. The bloke had started sobbing, and I was pretty fucking close myself.
I said, as calmly as I could, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I don't see any reson to continue with this call. I'm so sorry for your loss". I then ended the call.

I sat for about fifteen seconds, completely numb. I then stood up and booted my chair. It span 180° in the air and promptly disintegrated.

A woman came over from the other side of the room and told me how well I had handled the call, and to go and have a break.
She had only been taping the whole thing as part of my monthly review!

Length? A fifteen minute ordeal in the 7th circles of customer Hell! Dante had nothing on me.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 20:29, 3 replies)

good story
take a break..... Should have gone to the pub and had a large one for that ordeal.
Top stuff.
(BobbyLove, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 20:51, closed)

But you did get a free break
and probably a good review too.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:55, closed)

Speaking as someone who's in call centre management (I think I blasphemed in a previous life)
you sound like you really did well there. Good on you.
( Captain Wow currently being a cunt in Infamous, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 10:27, closed)