Hands up if you spent 16 hours over the weekend locked in a room with thirty people learning the 'science' of making a phone call?
No? Anyone? Just me then.
Damn.
Boy was it tough. Painful. Demoralising. Patronising. Conceited.
Imagine being spoken to like a 3 year old for 16 hours.
Then add in a fuck-wad who insists on relating everything the trainer says to his past job where he was some salesperson extraordinaire. A past job where he... wait for it....
... sold double glazing. Could you be a more stereotypical shit salesman type asshole?
I got into an argument with this guy over lunch as he wanted to tell everyone how he went on a twelve day sales course and is now some psychological superpower. Dude thought he was Professor Charles Xavier. He insisted that he could manipulate anyone into doing anything he wants by getting them to answer questions that form a response pattern. Then, (wait for it) HE CHANGES THE PATTERN SO YOU SAY YES TO HIS REQUEST!
Pfft. Fuck off Uri Geller.
I told him he sounded stupid and I'd never buy anything from him ever.
He told me I'm the sort of person he loves to sell to, because he loves it when they eventually fall for his ploys and buy whatever it is he's selling.
I told him he couldn't sell to someone, if they weren't buying anything, hated him and thought that what he was selling was shit.
A girl in the group asked him when he'd been brainwashed.
He mumbled some pseudo-psych bullshit and went out for a cigarette.
I finished my mashed potato and imagined fun ways I could severely injure him.
I also postulated that guys with long vulture necks and giant adam's apples are always fuckwits. I base this on knowing three people that support my hypothesis. Shush. My sample size is valid.
The only positive thing came in the 'icebreaker' exercise. The exercise required you to find a partner, learn about them and tell everyone else who they were, where they came from and one weird fact about them.
We struck gold on the first pair.
Trainer: Ok, you guys, you go first.
Tate: Uh, this is Greg. Greg's from London and the weird thing about Greg is that he has OCD.
[Awkward silence as Greg glares at Tate, and then glances around awkwardly whilst unbuttoning and re-buttoning the top button on his shirt. Five times.]
I almost explode holding back my laughter. No one else sees the humour in this.
Social awkwardness is my favourite spectator sport.
The only other good thing was hearing the trainer tell a fully grown man to go out into the corridor and wait for her as she would not stand for people having private conversations in the classroom.
So umm. Yeah. This job is probably going to suck. At least i got to watch a video about an Orangutan for my training this afternoon.
Monday, April 14, 2008
What has our protagonist gotten himself into now?
Labels:
fools,
phone calls,
work
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8 comments:
Oh dear, that dude sounds like a nightmare! I hate idiots who think they're god's gift to the world of whatever. No matter which way you look at it, you're still a salesman, wanker. Not you Jiminy, you're just in it for the money.
Here's betting you get a terminal next to him.
It sounds to me like you have made a new best friend! What was the weird thing about you? Other than this odd blogging thing you do.
JC, I feel your pain. I'm on the hunt for a weekend job myself, at the moment. But look at it this way: think of all the fun things you can do to sabotage this asshat. :) Come on, I'm sure a few have crossed your mind.
apes are pretty cool.
how bad do you wanna travel for an extra 3 months?
I swear you do this stuff just for the blog fodder!!
Your work life is starting to take on a semblance of surreality... surely people like you've been meeting only exist in books and b-grade movies?
Dude, save your soul and get out while you can! Run! Faaast!
amanda: Yeah he's a massive nightmare. Luckily on my first proper shift last night, he was nowhere to be found.
fd: The weird thing about me is that I really enjoy autoerotic asphyxiation. Oh yeah, and blogging. Seriously though, I could probably use a weird story from the early days of this blog. There might be something there.
gnugs: My mode of sabotage is most likely to involve a combination of sharp and blunt instruments and much, much evil laughter. I'll probably just look for his timesheets and throw them out at the end of every day. That would piss him off after about two days.
chris: Hells yeah. Apes are rad.
mars: So bad.
dune: It's not intentional, but it's better than working in a beige job where everything is just average, i guess.
technodoll: It's too laaaaaaate!
* swirls into soul eating vortex *
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