Lemuel

**I think you guys should meet him. He was one of my earlier posts that actually had comments, he's a favorite among my two offline readers, and he reminds me of the earlier days. Presented for your orgasmic pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, that endearing idiot telemarketer, Lemuel.

**A funny thing happened to me one time last September of 2004. I spoke with an actual telemarketer!The sales call was nothing I would observe myself, it losing out on the finer points of telemarketing, but I remembered it well enough to be able to transcribe it minutes after I dropped the phone on this Lemuel guy. He hee, if you've been in the telemarketing industry for more than a year now, sales agents like Lemuel aren't the type you'd usually forget. The bottomline was that he wasn't good at all, and that's an easy understatement. He sounded like he was courting the household help, I mean, he sounded like the Filipino equivalent of a redneck. He doesn't know what he's saying, and he sounded so friggin' boring, I wondered why I listened to him while he was delivering his sales pitch.

Maybe I did it for the novelty of my first telemarketing call. But if anything, this was hilarious.


Lemuel: Puwede po ba kay Rommel Tullao? Si Lemuel po ito, sa PLDT.

Me: Si Rommel ito, bakit, anong problema? (Yeah, so it's Rommel all along.)

Lemuel: Tanong ko lang po kung may picture na kayo sa PLDT?

Me: Picture? Anong picture? Bakit kailangan ng picture sa PLDT? ID ba yan? Ilalagay sa billing statement?

Lemuel: Hindi po. Pictures po para sa PLDT, yun bang call wait, call fo-ward, tsaka speed dial. (Oh, he was talking about features. Unbelievable. He spoke like he was right all along.)

Me: ("Is this a sales call?!?" was the thing which came to mind.) Ahhh, wala pa. Pwede bang paki-explain yon, hindi ko alam yun eh. (Of course, I was trying to get the most of my first sales call. I used to be a telemarketer myself.) Yung call wait, alam ko iyon, meron kami noon eh. Eh ano naman yung call forward?

Lemuel: Yung call fo-ward kasi ganito yun eh, parang ano lang yun, kuwan. Teka lang ha. (At this point, he puts down the phone, and the following conversation was heard in the background:)

Lemuel: HOY, NONG! Ano ba ulit yung, ano ba yun, yung call fo-warding? Eh pinapapaliwanag nitong kausap ko eh!

Man in a VERY Loud Voice: SABI-HEN mo, yung call fo-ward, ano lang yun, halimbawa, may pupuntahan siyang birthday, tapos ano, TEKA NGA!(This man with the loud voice then picked up the phone, and I found myself talking with him.)

MAN: Hello, ikaw ba yung kausap ni Lemuel?

Me: Opo (Duh). Ano ho ba ulit yung call forwarding? (I was having fun at this point already.)

MAN: Kasi ganito yun, halimbawa, may pupuntahan kang birthday, tapos walang maiiwan sa inyo, edi ang gawin mo, i-call fo-ward mo yung telepono mo para doon mo na lang sasagutin sa birthday.

Me: Aaah, eh pa'no kung walang telepono sa pupuntahan kong birthday?

Man: Ehhh, pakabitan natin. Pero kuha mo na yung call fo-ward, ha ser?

Me: Oo, okay na.

Man: Ehhh, teka lang ha. (He then puts the phone down, and started shouting in the background, "HOY Lemuel, okay na. Eto na 'o!" Moments later, a familiar dull voice was heard on the other line.)

Lemuel: Okay na ser?

Me: Oo, okay na. Eh ano naman yung speed dial, ha?

Lemuel: Ganito lang po yun ser. Yung speed dial eh ano lang, magpipindot kalang ng number tapos makakadial ka na.

Me: Niloloko mo ata ako eh! Eh siyempre ganoon talaga yun para maka-dial, pipindutin mo siyempre yung mga number!

Lemuel: Hindi po ganoon yun. (Mali na naman ako. Kasi naman eh.) Ibig sabihin, isang number lang yung pipindutin mo para imbes na (He starts counting softly.)para imbes na pitong number eh isang number na lang yung ida-dial mo.

Me: Teka, call center ba ito?

Lemuel: Hindi po, PLDT po ito. Sa OPSIM (or something), dito po sa San Joaquin (Pasig).

Me: Eh paano ko malalaman na PLDT ka nga?

Lemuel: Punta po kayo dito. Dito po kami sa tapat ng...(I cut him off.)

Me: HA? Pinapapunta mo ako diyan? Teka, magkano naman yung tatlong features na iyan ha?
Lemuel: Ano po, P59.75 lang kada buwan. Fixed na ho iyon. (I'm not sure if it was 59.75 or 59.25, I forgot that part).

Me: Puwede ko namang i-cancel pag ayoko na? (You have no idea how I wanted to be the one to cancel something over the phone!)

Lemuel: Opo, kayo naman magbabayad noon eh.

Me: Tapos, doon na lang siya lalabas sa billing statement, diba?

Lemuel: Opo.

Me: Tapos, kailan siya maa-activate ha, Lemuel?

Lemuel: Tatlong araw pa ho, kaya malamang sa Lunes.

Me: So, anong kailangan mo ngayon? (He wasn't using a script, I think.)

Lemuel: Kelan birthday mo?

Me: BAKIT MO NAMAN TINATANONG ANG BIRTHDAY KO?

Lemuel: Eh, kailangan po eh. (Why can't I use that in my telemarketing rebuttals?)

Me: (I wanted to humor him.) O sige, August 8.

Lemuel: Akina na yung SSS number mo.

Me: HA? Pati ba iyon?

Lemuel: Kailangan po eh.

Me: Naku eh, nasa office ID ko, hindi ko maalala. Tawagan mo na lang ako sa Lunes para maibigay ko sa iyo, okay?

Lemuel: Wala ho sa inyo ngayon?

Me: Tawagan mo na lang ako sa Lunes.

Lemuel: O sige po. Babay.


This was my first ever sales call, and I was intrigued by the many similarities between his call and my sales scripts. Of course, I was a little... refined as "Ben Tumbling," that being my American name, but I appreciated the way he wanted to answer all my questions. He was a little crude and all that, but with a little training, I'm sure he'll do good.

So what happened to Lemuel, anyway? He never called back.

Story of an Ugly Homeboy

**This is a hate post. Because I loathe this dick with a hatred that's reserved for incompetent sons of bitches that's just as conceited as they are ugly.

It's bad enough that you're ugly. No, we're not talking about the garden variety kind of ugly doomed to spent a lifetime of masturbation because they ain't never gonna get themselves laid, oh Lord no. We're talking about the repulsive-type ugly that causes people to cross themselves as a reflex. It's the Quasimodo-type ugly that's best left alone in a bell tower to isolate the children, oh the dear children, from what can be a lifetime of psychological anguish towards a very specific childhood memory. And by "memory," we're really talking about your face.

What makes it worse is when you're That ugly turd, and you're in a position of power. The funny thing is you're not that accepting of your shortcomings. To you, ugly is relative, and you don't understand why the guys snicker and snigger as a general response to your time-tested coolness. The faggots point at you and break out in fits of devilish laughter. As if they'll ever experience your fantastic manhood, you tell yourself. Those horsefaced freaks, you tell yourself in what can be a rare display of wit, Bray! like the fucking donkeys they are. The kids are awful with their blameless innocence. You could punch these little goblins everytime they question your biological make up.

You've grown accustomed to the unprovoked shower of spittled insults from these dicks, but it's the females you can't stand. You don't mind the fugly bitches; they can jeer all they want, but they're still not getting a piece of you. But the hot ones, oh merciful Jesus, those ones are an entirely isolated pain the nuts. You're, what, 28 in human years, and you have yet to score. Fucking virgin.

You wonder what went wrong as you repair to your family to shelter you from all this unfair response. Your mother, being the frog that she was, spawned a foaming pod full of healthy eggs. These eggs eventually became you and your siblings. You were the most likeable of the lot, the handsomest even, because you had the biggest frog mouth, the longest frog tongue, the largest frog eyes, and the slimiest frog skin. Your frog piss created super wartsin record time, and that potency is a big plus. That potency gave your siblings the frog equivalent of what is called penis envy in human terms. You so rock, you tell yourself.

And so you have good reason to challenge these narrow minded retards that call you ugly. You tell yourself.

The tadpole that is you mutated into a thoroughly horrifying bullfrog. And you wore glasses, for good measure. You croaked your way into a supervisory position in that call center job; you know you've got it made when you finally have underlings towards which you can endorse your thoroughly repulsive person. But they're not as much as underlings as they are opportunities, you tell yourself. You imagine kissing one of them smack on the lips to undo your frogness. Maybe even half a kiss, just enough to give yourself an idea as to how a woman's kiss feels like. Maybe you'll bring that up on your next coaching session. Maybe you'll get lucky enough to get laid, you tell yourself. Might as well schedule the next team building.

But as it goes, the spectacular black magic that caused your promotion came with a curse. You will be blinded towards your spot-on incompetence. That resulting blind spot, furthermore, will be reinforced by an unprecedented lack of personality that does nothing to even your chances of getting laid.

You will be a supervisor, yes, but it will not be enough that you're ugly.

This, Too, Shall Pass: Tempering the Resignation Mood

**What's an 11-letter word for Writing? Therapeutic

I know, it's all fun and games and performance bonuses and bottomless pantry coffee until somebody loses an eye. Or the will to login on time because you're complying yourself to exhaustion. And then it becomes so paralyzingly dull. You suddenly don't mind if you're late now, or yesterday, or the day before because the eagerness to suck up has grayed itself out. You don't mind any memos farting in your general direction, not anymore, so you get a pen and imagine an excuse that's just as fabulous as your punctuality. You then remember that you were absent the day before that, but you're approaching that stage where you don't give a shit. Okay, shits, if you really had too much.

Memos? Just bring it on, you tell yourself.

Whiny coworkers and them hissy others saturate an already stressful environment and give it the toxicity of snake venom. Which is the last thing you need, really, seeing as you're already doing technical support for mostly hysterical boobs who give you a. attitude or b. stupid or c. both. But you don't mind that; it's on the fine print of your job contract (expect a lot of dumb ass sons of bitches). What you didn't expect are rotten dicks who signed the same damn contract you did and they're just as complaining as the babies who pay you to do technical support for them.

I know there's a thousand-word bitch fit for what I'm feeling right now, but just writing it away and being all too sexy about it doesn't pay the bills. My kinky night job doing technical support does that all too well. Yes, it gets my panties in a bunch from time to time, but it gets me new panties at the same time, so I'm not going to be that much of a baby about it. I will elect to stay put, keep them Very Satisfied, clean up my ACT, try to keep my seat from being slip, and wait for that next pay raise. Hell, I just got my second raise this early on THIS YEAR, so at least there's something to keep me adhering glued.

Writing that away doesn't make me any less choosy as to my preferred line of work. I'm still looking for job openings for tellers in a sperm bank.

Related Posts
My Resignation Letter (from an earlier Telemarketing gig)
Confessions of a Telemarketer
My Basic Work Philosophies (Part One)

Lemme Put You On Hold

**You can only imagine what talk happens during that one minute hold. And this is just some of them. We are actually running your tests for you during that two minute hold, but we are mostly... distracted.

1. American Idol performance night
2. human swine virus
3. comparing lubes
4. comparing gaydar notes over which new guy emits the strongest gay frequency
5. where are we having lunch?
6. this godawful noob that's messing my cool
7. this godawful noob that's messing my cool for thirty minutes now
8. this godawful noob that's messing my cool for an hour now
9. what's a noob?
10. that fool Ricky Hatton going down on Round 2
11. the weather. Yes, the weather.
12. are we going out for a few beers?
13. are we going out for a lot of beer?
14. how many days left before the weekend
15. how many days left before the next payday
16. how was your pay?
17. some technical jargon
18. grammar slips
19. phonetics slips
20. pronunciation slips
21. B and V slips
22. P and F slifs
23. what time are we having lunch?
24. can we have lunch now?
25. what about now?

A Carefreeflowing Bitchfit Minus the Caps Lock on Some of the People in Your Office

**This is not a list per se. I'm just ranting at random, and an enumeration make my points easier to follow. This was written two months ago, and I just elected to post this now. One: I'm running out of things to post. Two: I think the things I wrote here affects people that are mostly no longer in the campaign. No blind item-med fags though. So you're not here, my hairy gay bear fren. We miss you.

1. Gullible officemates who

"fall for just about every too-good-to-be-true or too-stupid-to-be-true (etc) rumor out there and then feel the need to babble excitedly about it to everyone!"

I'm quoting him. He gave me the idea for this post, btw.

2. Nonperforming co-workers who are tirelessly looking for excuses to escape the workload. This is during those times when they took the time to report for work and bless us with their presences. But don't get me wrong, they are actually helpful when it comes to some very specific statistics. Like they're great when it comes to contributing to the absenteeism rate.

3. Incompetent figures of authority who, at best, excel in fault finding and power tripping like its nobody else's business. And they've practiced it so well that they've become super ignorant of the fact that they're not helping. They're the same people who, at the same time, had the iron set of balls to tell you they're right and you're wrong, you're always wrong, and there's no way in hell you're winning an argument against them because they're already filing a report for insubordination halfway through your well-meaning and well-rehearsed defense.

They make you want to sit down and wonder what validation does a promotion acknowledge these days?

I heard she's no longer in the program though, and that is such an opportunity missed. I'd like to give her a piece of my mind. It's going to be an all-caps conversation without no keyboards or none.

4. I know this sounds like I'm agreeing just for the hell of it, but believe me when I tell you that you sound happier now that you have resigned from the office. You really do sound pleased, and I'm genuinely happy about the whole situation. Life goes on without you though, if that's your main concern.

5. To your friends that are still here, see number 4, nothing or no one really cares enough to keep you from resigning. Deal with it. So if you wanna flip the finger towards due process, fuck the last thirty days right?, just stop going to work already. Aren't you tired of making excuses?

6. Let me quote Mark Twain:

"When we do not know a person--and also when we do--we have to judge his size by the size and nature of his achievements, as compared with the achievements of others in his special line of business--there is no other way."

So this means NO, the length of your stay in this here company is completely dead to me. I mean, I'm too old for penis envy. Line of business! Ha, what a beautiful coincidental phrase.

7. You know what you signed up for, and what your functions are, and that makes two of us. So if you can read, please do so between the lines.

8. Complaining has never been and will never be a bankable asset. So shut your trap and develop a set of good work ethics this early on.

I Used To Be Poor

I'm an agent in a call center. But unlike most agents, I don't speak English outside of the office on account of I believe that my English is something that they're paying for. I never paid no eighty pesos for one cup of coffee, never have and never will, I'm not that flashy, and I never used my occupation to social climb.

Yes, the income borders on the slightly lucrative, but that's never an excuse to become a totally inflated airhead. At least I never saw it that way. It does afford a comfortable lifestyle personalized with the most fantabulous accessories the income bracket can provide. But it still sucks if it's making you defy the earth's gravitational pull on your head.

I've been working in the same industry for three years now, and I have been working for three different companies all that time. Although it is a little too early to say that I've been there and I've done that, what little experience I've had in the industry tells me this much: I used to be poor.

Manong, Doo Yoo Hab A BAHL-pen?

**This will be the first time that I'm writing something with a different taste to it. I mean, feel free to check my previous writings and verify that I'm totally not like this at all. Pero I still like this style ha.

Kaka-inis that bitch ha. I was like, making pila for my Marlboro Lights there in Ministop, right? And I was like, sobrang behaved and totally composed pa kasi the morning people are making pasok na for their shifts, diba? Kakahiya naman to make a dugyut impression noh, I'm working for a popular company pa naman. I was next na eh, and all of a sudden, this gagang bitch sobrang made basag my cool talaga! Like, I was next na noh, and then she sooo made singit like she was artistahin. The nerve ha! Hello, pangit niya kaya, and her clothes look like she made them sungkit pa from her squatter neighbor's sampayan pa. Kakagalit, right? She was just buying a cheap-ass Panda ballpen lang naman noh.

What makes it so kaka-inis, like nakaka-nose bleed na galit, was that she was buying that with a slang. Kapal! She was like, "Manong, doo yoo hab a BAHL-pen?"Yuck, feeling niya talaga. I'm not making buhat my sariling bangko noh kasi it's also my bread and butter na rin, but hello! Reality check lang "Miss Trying Hard" ha, kasi nga diba you're just buying a fucking ka-cheapan na ballpen noh. Yeah, I know na you're just trying to make practice your sobrang basurang fake accent diba, pero hello! Do that with your jologs friends na lang, not when you're making singit just to buy a mumurahing ballpen noh. Duh!

I can't believe na there are sobrang OA na third world squatters who are working in the same building as I am. Alam niyo ha, I'm also working in the same field as that baho girl noh, pero what makes us sobrang astig is that we're on the upper echelon kasi eh. I'm, like, I dunno, a DVD player? And that wannabe is, like, Betamax or something. Like, hello! Sana lang noh, next time, try to practice social etiquette as much as your fake accent kasi it's going to be, you know, more important in the long run talaga. Kaka-inis kasi when some people are sobrang feeling taas ng ihi na once they start doing American Accent training.

Kasi nga diba, these same jologs people are the same losers giving the rest of us agents a bad name. Like, that cashier in mini-stop siguro is already making irap na to the next call center agent na he's making sukli to. Kasi naman the sobrang bahong impression that Ms Trying Hard just gave.

They're sooo making us panghi talaga. Like, ew.

Confessions of a Telemarketer

**Or "Why" Spelled in ___ Different Ways.
**Or "Kissing Telemarketing Goodbye."

If, for some reason, you beg to differ with all the hostility you can summon, then leave me alone. Do something else, like polish your sales pitch, or practice speaking faster. I've been there, and I CAN sell. I can probably outsell you ten to one if I'm still interested, but Ben Tumbling has left the building and is now doing a happy job as a technical support personnel.
And don't get offended. You'll get over the effin truth anyway.


Aside from learning how to speak like an American and argue with an American, the other good thing about telemarketing is quitting.


I've been doing a lot of telemarketing for about more than a year now, and for some people, that's just about long enough. I did hardcore telemarketing, phone scamming, and business listings for more than is required, and I figured it's just about time to rinse my brain cells for something fresh. I quit doing it, and since my resignation letter was as honest as it can get, there are still other reasons which strengthened my resolve to go and, as those Americans placed it, "get a better job."

So I did it for the pay, and the pay's excellent. There was a time when my tax alone was another person's income for a full pay period, and that made me feel good. Not because I'm making this much money, but because I'm worth this much dough. And I wasn't even THAT good yet. So I stayed to figure out how far I can go. Turns out that I wouldn't go THAT far, thanks to the various influences I met along the way.

There isn't much room for learning. You can only learn as much, and then your brain proceeds to rot from the same mind numbing telemarketing. I mean, how much brain work does it require for anyone to update a business listing and sell crap after that? See, you can only do so much with your rebuttals, twist them and turn them around for plausible manipulation as you please. But it sometimes verges on scamming, so there isn't much you can really DO with them. It's always the same routine, day after day after day. And then the day after that. You can get to master everything in this much time, but what happens after that? You can get lucky and learn a new product in a span of six months, but that is only if you are lucky enough. And unless that happens, you're stuck to updating online business listings which nobody ever looks up.

I'm smarter than this sonofabitch who's cussing at me over the phone, and I wonder why I can't just cuss him back and get it over with? Damn, I learned the art of cursing assholes early on in grade school, and it's pretty much a secondary nature. But there's somebody listening in to this call and may actually be recording it for posterity. Quality. So I give him the finger while I'm doing my rebuttals, but, for all the wrong reasons, it just doesn't feel right.

Quality in this context simply refers to the quality of the verbal receipt involved in all this telemarketing. We record the agreements over the phone, and we're doing that just to say that we have a tape of them saying YES to the sales pitch. They have no other choice but to pay us since we have them caught on tape. And just to be real sure, the tape's well recorded and the conversation was just as clear as bottled water. Quality, then, makes sure that the receipt's flawless, and that the scam's a work in progress.

I studied mathematics for five years in college, and for the most part, math at my level (as a telemarketer) is basically all about counting sales. The extra mile in this instance would actually involve DIVIDING my daily sales by this much hours, or computing my cash incentives to involve MULTIPLICATION, and that's basically it. I never needed to use what I know in differential equations, operations research, or even linear algebra; it's just addition, division, and multiplication, and I'm all set.

That probably explains why undergraduates overachieve in this field.

The previous reason then gives birth to another question: I finished college for this? And for some of my friends back then: I passed the board for this? I'm beginning to wonder whatever happened to my "edge" in this industry that brags of its fair share of successful undergraduates. I'm getting as much as this telemarketer in my team, and yet I'm the one with the diploma. And then when I go on and think about it, I can always use my diploma and apply as a teacher, or a programmer, or a teller in a sperm bank. But then it's either earning the minimum wage or working as a telemarketer. And there really is no sense in pointing out that you're a telemarketer with a degree in mathematics. We all sound the same to the person we're speaking with over the phone. And we receive the same paycheck as everyone else.

It needed a wake up call to realize all this. One of my most memorable telemarketing calls was with the owner of this bakery. When I introduced myself over the phone, THE verbal handshake as they called it back then, he interrupted me and told me that he needs to close the door. Then I heard a click, and then he started with this enraged litany over harrassment. He said that he's been called by US people more than a dozen times, and he has been polite all along. For some reason, I knew that I'm speaking with a man nearing his breaking point, and that was more that validated when he started screaming: "What have we done to deserve this kind of harrassment? Not buy anything from you guys?"

I received a lot of calls very similar to this one, but for some reason, this was the ONE call I needed. This baker rattled me more than $10,000 threats, the Secretary of state, or the Better Business Bureau. He isn't even cursing, but all of the foulmouthing from a hundred previous assholes does not even begin to compare with this one guy who's had enough.

The common rebuttal to this kind of objection, when the customer's at his breaking point, would go something like, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry you feel that way, so let me just go on ahead and remove your from our calling list." Tough luck, since I knew better. At the back of my head, I was like, "Yes, I might be telling you that we'll be removing your name from our calling list. But I'm just telling you that, since we'll still be calling this number soon, and we'll be wishing like hell that someone else will answer. And then we'll throw him the sales pitch. We can tell you one hundred times that we'll remove your name from our calling list, but that's never going to happen. Your number will still end up as another prospect call. So, come to think of it, we are harrassing you, sir."

I didn't even try pushing the product forward. I just wished him a nice day, went on break, and started thinking. Maybe I've had enough myself?

The First Week

**For a change, allow me to write a post a la Ginger Foutley. You know, diary-esque. You know, different. And this would be a short narration of what transpired during my first week at work.




DAY 1

A funny thing happened on my way to work. I was on the terminal at 6:30 in the morning, and I was waiting for the MRT to buendia, which'll take me there in ten minutes flat. I was in no hurry, really, and I was hopping like a happy fucking princess when I boarded the bus once it stopped in front of me. Anyway, our office was located in Makati, so imagine my surprise when I saw the Araneta Coliseum along the way to the office. Madre de dios, it dawned on me like blood in my stool, I took the wrong bus!
Commuting in the morning is basically greek to me. See, I have always worked nights, so getting to the office IN the morning is a different experience. I've heard of the nightmarish morning rush from time to time, but I'm always too cool to care anyway. I was in Quezon City at quarter to seven in the morning, so I thought of just waiting for the next bus to get me to Makati. Sounds real easy, but then, I had to experience first hand what a cruel nightmare the morning rush was.
It was so friggin' bad, those damn buses looked like sardine cans on wheels.

DAY 2

I left home early to do training, real early, and I listened to BeeGees songs all the way to Makati. Yup, this was going to be a great day.
And I am getting along well with my co-trainees. I never doubted that I would have problems getting along anyway. I just hope that they wouldn't confuse my confidence with something else.
I hate that impression.

DAY 3

All went well until I was on this bus going home. I wasn't even out of the Makati Business District when the bus I was on just started swerving from left to right. It started with this abrupt movement to the left, more like a jolt or something, but then it was followed by a sudden turn to the right. For some reason, the driver's acting fucked up. Real bad. It even came this close to this other bus, so close that we were almost five inches apart! It was near the MRT station in Buendia when things started to really get out of control.
The bus came to a screeching halt, real abrupt, and then these two ugly thugs operating my bus just started erupting in most fluent expletives. The conductor opened the door, and then went out in the street, obviously infuriated by another bus which happened to be tailing ours. I was three seats away from the driver, and I saw him take out this LARGE KNIFE from his drawer or something, and then he followed his conductor out into the street. My fellow passengers were already halfway to violent, and they were all looking out of the windows, screaming for their money back. Imagine that.
Anyway, our driver and his partner came back in like three minutes flat, apparently appeased and enormously apologetic to all of us. Turns out that they were being assholed by the driver from the other bus, and that they were just giving him his just desserts.The drive was uneventful after the confrontation, and it returned to becoming another hot and sweaty afternoon. Nobody died.
Crap, I was only interested in seeing someone get killed or something. We were already parked in the middle of Buendia, and I can always get another bus home after seeing somebody break skin and bleed.

DAY 4

What of my day? Well, as Randy Jackson used to say on American Idol: "It was a-aight," but I had to dismiss myself earlier on account of I need to be in the bank before it closes at three. Something about encashing my final pay and all that. Resigning has too much complications, if you ask me, I mean, I'd be happier if I could just say "Thank You," and then go on my way.
For some reason, the Philippines during summer is where hell and the sun meet.

DAY 5

You know you're doing accent training when they're discussing those chinovelas in English. But it isn't to laugh, you know, when they're making sense out of the situation, and you just have to adore the effort. I am beginning to like this group more, and I just wish to my tits that we all get to pass. You know, all of us.

Trying Hard to Slang

**I don't know if this is supposed to be funny or just plainly cruel.

One of the many things that kept me busy this month was this week-long training course in American Accent. I took it with the idea that a certificate in my resume would increase the size of my balls to near-implosion, and though I don't really need to enroll to validate my speaking skills, it would be fun to show off. Basically, I was there to get certified and to look nice, but I really had no idea what I would realize in the long run.

There were about eight of us in our training batch, and like they always do, we started the session with a brief introduction of ourselves. I spoke last, but before I was able to deliver my verbal handshake, I was bombarded with enough inconsistencies to leave me speechless for a while.

We haven't started training yet, so the obvious absence of the American accent was forgivable, but the tragedy doesn't begin there. We have a situation regarding their understanding of English, and believe me when I'm trying hard to make a sufficiently condescending understatement.

Underscore "sufficiently condescending..."

It was a five day training course, and I learned everything I needed to understand on Day One. Sure, I was able to pick up useful tips on how I can further improve, but everything else that I've come to understand was just simply disappointing. Don't get me wrong, the training program in itself deserves a tap on the back for it was just marvelous. But my co-trainees were, well, for lack of a better word, they were horribly _______.

I'm not usually this blunt when talking about people (har), but their understanding of the English language was sufficiently far from admirable. To say that they have a loose grip on the English language would be a morbid work of charity. I mean, the following lines from those _____ are simply dumbfounding, and hopefully will help you fill in the blanks. And understand that I was using a spell checker before posting this, so typographical errors are just plainly impossible.

"I'm not happy anymore with the depression things and the mind boggling stuff."

"I like to play basketball because of my camaraderie of my friends... my friends... that's it."

"I just sleep to relax my body, so instead of committing a sin, so I sleep."

"graft & corruptions"

"I understanding"

"As far as I know that you'd like me to tell you..."

Leonardo di Caprio and Kate Winslet's big unsinkable boat sank when it collided with this huge chunk of ice floating in the sea. Apparently, the ironic tragedy of the sinking unsinkable boat was engineered by but an insignificant part of this even bigger chunk of ice. Deliciously enough, this makes for a curious movie reference on account of my ______ co-trainees' initial defect pales in comparison when they actually tried speaking in an American tongue. Recall that this was an American Accent Training to begin with, and the main purpose of the program was to neutralize the Filipino in our English to give way to an American accent. And yes, they were wonderfully consistent with the wrong grammar all throughout. Surprisingly, more of those abovementioned quips were encountered along the way. Just when you thought they couldn't be any worse than that, they never failed to exceed themselves.

Turns out that their erroneous grammar was but soil on top of the mudpie. See, knowing how to speak in English is independent of speaking it with an Accent. And this was an entirely different can of worms as shown by the following scenarios:

"Now, pronounce the word apple with a schwa [ae]"
(a schwa sound [ae] basically is the trick to making it sound american)
[ae]pel (no, it's not [ae]pEl, it should be [ae]pple)
affel (what happened to your P's?)
[ae]ffel (were talking about a fruit here, not a tower in France)
[ae]pples (oh dear)

"So what's your favorite kind of food?"
(we heard answers like Japanese, American, and one German, but this one took time)
I like Filifino... (one f please)
I like Pilipino... (this is an American accent course, say it like an American!)
Filipino... (there you go), I like Filipino pood

"How do you describe the color red to a blind person?"
I will pocus on... (No, it's pronounced as fow-kis)
I will focus on... (again, it's fow-kis)
I will focused on... (something's wrong with your grammar, "I will fow-kis on...")
I will fow-kis on on my fersonal peelings

Stagnant is a word I haven't been using for a while now. And I kid you not when I'm telling you that I'm writing everything as they were spoken.

I asked these people why they attended this training course. Of course, the answer was obvious enough. They wanted to make it in the call center industry on the understanding that "learning" how to speak like an American would be a welcome benefit when they need to apply in any particular center. As a matter of fact, cross out "benefit" and change it to "asset" since they believed that they would have an edge after graduating from this week's worth of training. They were thinking that the certificate from this program would do them a lot of good. Not only would it look good on their resume, but it in a way makes them easy shoe-ins for any vacancy in this particular industry.

Well, that's stupid. See, learning how to speak English in a manner similar to those of Americans is different from being able to speak correct English. There's just no point in trying to speak with an accent when you're backing that up with absurd sentence constructions and infestations of grammatical flaws. Sure, Americans themselves are no different with the grammar, but then, you'll know what they are up front.

The thing is, why do you have to bother learning how to speak like an American when you can't even construct a sentence in fucking English? What damned good would that be? Why would you even bother buying yourself a goodlooking cue stick when you don't even know how to play pool? You can bop yourself silly on the head with that cue stick, but you'll gonna have to find some other ways to use it. Otherwise, it's just a pointless expense to begin with.

The idea that people just want to apply in call centers just proves to show that it indeed is a very established industry. Believe me, I'm talking out of personal experience. I've been there, and I was a happy witness to more than enough money than I deserve, a radical working environment for the chronically nocturnal, spiffs and incentives that'll make you forget about payday, and free coffee. I was even sent to a resort in Fontana to train, yes, to "train," and I got paid overtime to do that.

See, this particular industry does have a lot to offer. When you're in it, you basically have everything in your favor. It delivers a well-compensated position, unlimited avenues of learning, and a very charged working environment just to name a few.

However, as one unforgettable person used to say, this isn't a charitable institution. This is work, and they are simply justifying those benefits with a strict and arduous recruitment process. They need to make sure that they're hiring potential assets, manpower that has the talent and the skills to make the company perform good and look good at the same time. And like any organization bent on profit, they need to make sure that they're paying for their money's worth. Sadly enough, people who say things like "I understanding," "graft and corruptions," and "Filifino pood" just ain't their money's worth.

It's the sad truth. It's unfortunate, but this makes perfect sense. We all know that nobody would like to maintain liabilities in their organization. We buy pimple treatments because zits don't look good on us, and we'd prefer to eradicate them as soon as possible. At the same time, we make sure that our skin's clean enough to leave no space for such corruption.

But the thing is, it isn't for everybody. I really don't mean to break anybody's heart, but it isn't for everybody. Call me a cruel heartless bitch, but these _____ are basically "everybody."

I'm sorry if I had to be blunt.

In Defense of Call Center Agents

** This was an article I wrote before as a response to this one halfwit I encountered in my Friendster network.Anyway, here's what he said:
"una sa lahat,, ayoko ng mahilig mageenglish!!! badtrip un!! lalo na pag paslang pa!! okay lang kung pabiro,, pero kung serioso?? naku!!!"
And here's what I said...

I've been in the call center industry for a year and six months now. Because of our target market is an english-speaking environment, and since we're speaking mostly with Americans during the 7.5 dialing hours of the shift, it's just natural if I, we, were to acquire a certain slang with the way we're speaking our American.

See, it's my profession, it's the job that I do, and I take it seriously. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to excel in this industry, starting off with the slanged tongue.

When people start disliking me for this acquired asset, it's either one of two things: maybe they failed Accent Training, or they just don't understand the near-necessity of speaking with a twang in this industry. I'm thinking it's more of the latter.

It takes a halfwit to start attacking the things they don't comprehend, and it takes a greater pail of phlegm to utterly despise this particular necessity. The one thing I really don't get with people of "white matter," (white matter is when the gray matter of the brain's gone so obsolete it faded) is that they have this amazing inclination to start hating, fearing, or maybe even groaning at things they don't understand.

Case in point: "una sa lahat,, ayoko ng mahilig mageenglish!!! badtrip un!! lalo na pag paslang pa!! okay lang kung pabiro,, pero kung serioso?? naku!!!"


This is from an actual description by one of the people here in my personal network in Friendster. I don't really know why this was posted, but I'm thinking that must be the SAME reason why I'm posting this short defense. I'm challenging whoever that was to read between the lines. I think that IF EVER the above statements (IN TAGALOG, previous paragraph) was directed to anybody in the same industry as I am, then here's your explanation:

"I am a call center agent, and I speak with Americans every single day in the work week. Americans are really not comfortable being pitched at by some 'Puerto Rican/Indian/whathaveyou,' and they tend to disagree with the sales pitch because 'they're not understanding' what we're saying. So, we try neutralizing our accents to sound less like 'Puerto Ricans/Indians/whathaveyous,' and we try to develop a certain accent for our personal well-beings as well as CSR's. If this rubs off in our daily 'kuwentuhans' with the people around us, don't even dare accusing us of being frustrated conversationalists or wannabe Caucasians. And if you're not comfortable hearing what we have to say with our acquired accents, it's not our fault, and I could never stress that enough."

If you're so beyond stupid you can't construct a sentence in English, let alone speak it okay, then put your finger out of my ass. It's not comfortable for either one of us. I'll start hating you not because you don't like the way we speak, but because you're starting to insist this particular dislike with an unnerving intensity. Yes, we are in the Philippines. And in this Tagalog-speaking community, there probably is no real reason in trying to speak in English with an accent to match. However, when your job depends on it, and your performance even more so, then you'll have no other choice but to learn. I really don't imagine that sick fuck to be able to reach this part of my article on account of all these straining sentences constructed in English, but I really would like to direct my point.

I would like to add something else to this, but I would prefer to adhere to the standards of diplomacy and refute the enchanting invitation to offend. Or to rephrase that in a manner which he would perfectly understand, "hindi bale na lang."

And in case you were wondering, I was writing this with a slang.

Dear Moron

**The dude in question's a real person. Ain't he a pretty daisy, and he was also under attack in a previous post, so I guess that's two strikes for the dumbass.


Dear Moron,

Allow me to express my deepest sympathy over your acute inability to appreciate English. Your misguided attempts to take me down really inspires much hope, as nobody's ever done that before. To tell you the truth, it's just futile, just crack futile. However, don't stop yet since I'm not asking you to cease with the name-callings. In fact, I'm personally endorsing it. Maybe you'll get creative along the way, and I'll give you a tap on the back.

You know I'm all for mental growth and all that good jazz. Most especially in your case, only it's intesive care.

Yes, you were the same halfwit who denounced Filipinos speaking with a twang, with a slang, with an Americanized tongue. Goes without saying that I remember you well, on account of I know that I am the only one Filipino you heard speaking with a slang. Well, tough luck, I ain't leaving, and it just gets better now that you're attacking my writings with the same stoo-peed fervor.

No, I didn't spell that incorrectly. I did that on purpose. And if you happened to not notice that, my dear imbecile friend, then you really are surprising me beyond measure.

You hate me probably because you'll never get even half as smart as me. You might now know a lot of things, your being a moron basically, but consider yourself fortunate. You are enjoying such blissful stupidity. Though I ain't wishing the same luxuries you probably are enjoying right now, try not to poke us with your dumbstick.

I really have no idea what caused your ass to lose its alignment. But it would bless my poor soul if you'd manage, out of the kindness of your heart, to have someone kick the stupid off of you.

And by the way, if in any case you were selling me something, trust me on this one: I'll buy anything from you except the story that you're not gay.

Mel

P.S. Yes, our village is glad to have you as our idiot.

My Resignation Letter

**Seriously, this was my golden ticket. And this was what they signed on my way out. Of course, feel free to peruse of what I wrote here if you're in need of a good excuse.



January 29, 2005

To whom it may concern,



I would like to tender my resignation effective immediately. Why?

I'm not having fun with what I'm doing anymore.

This has been the case since November of last year, but I still tried to give your company the input that it required of its sales agents. I expected a surge of strength following my prolonged vacation last December, but I became increasingly alarming with my disappointing performance. This is not me, and however I tried to do perk myself or to go around the situation, everything I did was in vain. It didn't change one bit. I'm seriously not having fun anymore.

Please don't get me wrong. When I said that I'm not having fun "with what I'm doing" anymore, that does not mean that I don't like the campaign that I'm assigned to. I have been updating business listings and signing people up for 30-day trials for more than a year already, I can do it in my sleep. I know everything about it, and I'm very comfortable with the sales pitch. These 30-day trials are what started me off as a telemarketer, and I am very fortunate to participate in this campaign.

But for some reason, I'm increasingly unenthusiastic over the whole job description. I'm not having fun with all these telemarketing no more, and transferring to another campaign wouldn't do much good since I know that it really wouldn't change my mind. At this point, I'm just so eager to be able to get away from all these telemarketing, I'll still ask you to sign this letter anyway.

I didn't want to resign last year because I never wanted to spend the holidays jobless and penniless. And besides, I made it a point to remain for at least six months in any corporate organization which took me in. And I think it's worth mentioning that your people are great. My friends here are what kept me going as an employee of __________.

But I hope I couldn't have made it any clearer. I mean, I mentioned it twice already. And here's another shot: I'm not having fun anymore.

I would like to resign from the business organization.


Sincerely,


Mel Tullao
Unhappy Sales Agent

**The unhappy sales agent was printed there in black and white. For real.

My Basic Work Philosophies (Part One)

Now I know why they call experience the greatest damn teacher there is. Here are some basic lessons I've learned from my very first job out of college.

1. Usually, it's a bad thing when the words "overworked" and "underpaid" are used in the same sentence. In the unfortunate event that this happens, clear your locker, furnish a polite resignation letter, and run for the hills.

2. "Hardwork," when properly acknowledged is inspiring provided that you are getting any richer with the extra effort. Otherwise, it's just "stress."

3. If you're a telemarketer, DON'T PITCH THE BITCH. They ask too many questions.

4. Nine times out of ten, it's always a good idea when the lowest paying call center makes you sign something that increases your workload for a cup of Swiss Miss and a couple of sweet buns. No, make that ten times out of ten.

5. There are times when some stupid dipshit with not as much as a degree gets promoted over you. Not exactly specific to the call center industry, but fairly common in places where brown nosing applies. And when this happens, ask yourself, "Is it my fault that I never attended Asskissing 101?"

By the Skin of My Teeth

I wrote this sometime ago when I had all the right reasons to believe that I might as well be terminated from my lucrative job as a telemarketer. And if there should be one word that best describes what happened next, then that beautiful term would be "fortunately."

I'm writing this with the influence of a threat clouding most of my rational thinking. Goes without saying that I am a deer fascinated by that stunning headlight growing dangerously larger as it approaches with murderous intensity. I'm on thin ice. And so it goes, and it can't be helped.

Earlier today, like an hour earlier today, I received notice of strong intents to terminate my employment in the company I'm working for. Actually, the word "intents" does not even come close to what really happened. Think "process," and suddenly the real picture presents itself in the most vivid of colors. An hour earlier, I was told that the upper management in the office are strictly bound to deliver my papers of termination. The news came to me accompanied with a thunderous shock, and it forced me to mouth the words, "What the hell have I been doing?"

That this happened so soon was something I never anticipated. I mean, sure I was reckless, and I was even more irresponsible for going on AWOL for four days this month. But the question was, whatever happened to that sweet little phrase called "due process?"

I have always believed that I am comfortably lodged in a safe haven that would not allow rash indecision to cloud the well being of its constituents. And I used this principle to my advantage by challenging them to serve me further suspension by going on AWOL for days on end. Much to my chagrin, this eventually presented itself as a corrosive habit, and now I'm at home most of the time when my colleagues are in the office, where we should be working all at the same time. That it has mutated into a habit was something I never intended to take place. But the circumstances are eager to promote the possibility, and I am now standing on thin ice.

My powers of persuasion are the least of my proudest skills, and I have no idea how I'm going to explain myself. But if there's anything more on the bullseye than anything else, it's that I have reason to believe that my Christmas is getting a little less merry than I expected.