You’d think being somebodies object d’art would make one feel uber fabulous, confident and vicariously sexual but in truth, it makes me feel unnerved, irritated and hounded, especially in the way that JT has tried to, for want of a better expression, get into my Jock Straps.
It started a while back when I came into the office one morning, to an email saying ‘Hi Tequilla, really great to meet you yesterday. You look familiar, have I seen you out somewhere?’ from someone called JT. Now while this in itself is inoffensive it did slightly unease me because I had no idea who JT was and certainly had no recollection of meeting him. I began perturbing that all the doctor’s warnings were legitimate; one day the years of drugs and alcohol worship really would result in memory loss and brain damage.
‘Do you know who this JT is?’ I asked the team and a little bit of research later I learned JT worked in our other building as the Head of Facilities and was at a Focus Group the previous day, which, yours truly was also at. In these kinds of situations, I keep myself to myself and pray that nobody will talk to me. As I mentioned previously I work in an organisation where it’s all very much about office-speak and management talk which is spoken in abundance at the best of times, but a Focus Group? Fuck. Me .Hard. It just drones on and on, so I zone out, daydreaming about working in a place where they all speak The Queens English only to zone back and hear the likes of ‘Not letting the grass grow too long on this one’ ‘what are the elephants in the room’ and ‘getting all of our ducks in a row’.
Thinking back on the previous day, I vaguely recalled getting myself a coffee and asking a guy if he would mind passing the milk. That was it. That was him. I’d asked someone to pass me a drop of milk for my coffee, and suddenly we ‘met’. And according to JT, ‘it was great’. If that is the case, then I’m better about meeting people than I think I am. Who knew it was so unproblematic?
Armed with this knowledge and still no clearer I emailed back saying ‘Hi, it’s possible you have seen me out, I am a permanent fixture in most pubs and bars in Central London’. I didn’t want to be rude by not emailing back, but didn’t want to say ‘great to meet you too’ so didn’t.
Literally a few seconds later he emailed back ‘so, which bars do you drink in matey’ and I realised, he was trying to figure out if I was of the lavender persuasion. If I was less of a moth to a flame and more of a moth to a flamer. In short, was I a pole smoker? Now, I’ve never considered myself to be the most mannish of guys, but I didn’t speak to anyone or move in that Focus Group, which is the only way I am able to conceal my Lavenderness. He was trying to work me out, which piqued me if I’m honest. Does he have any idea how much work has gone into being this gay?
‘The ones that serve alcohol’ I fired back. I was being very short and sharp hoping that he’d take the hint but no, within milliseconds he’s saying ‘LOL like a drink do we? Seriously, I think I’ve seen you out and about what’s your local?’
Was he freaking kidding me with this? The espèce de merde. He knew how totally inappropriate this was becoming, he could after all have been barking up the wrong tree, which is why he was so hesitant in asking me if I drank in a specific Homo Haunt.
‘ I don’t have a regular, I have been in most of the bars in the West End, including Soho wine bar, the Toucan, Café Boheme, The Wellington, The Marquis and The Yard.’ All the bars apart from The Yard are heterosexual places, and I have been in them all many times, so if he was trying to find out if I received swollen goods and took deliveries around the back based on where I drink, well, then he was barking up the wrong lavander bush quite frankly.
Again, quick as a cat he emailed back, ‘Ah, The Yard? That’s not the kind of place I’d expect a bear cub like you to hang out. LOL Listen, I think you’re cute, and it’d be nice to get to know each other a bit more, when are we going for a bevy? Maybe we could do it at the weekend and make a day of it LOL, go for lunch, then out on the razz LOL’
Ladies and Dobermans, I don’t mind telling you I almost fell off my chair when that came through. I don’t know what I was more offended by, the fact that he had LOL’d me three times in one email, which really is a pet hate of mine, had called me a bear cub, or had assumed that it was appropriate to hit on someone you worked with via work email? It was by far, one of the most unsavoury things that had ever popped in my box.
I felt a little bit of sick come up and decided to nip this in the bud. I replied ‘Considering the only words we have ever said to each other are ‘can you pass the milk’ I’m not sure we’d have much to talk about, so think I’ll give it a miss’
‘Calm down, I didn’t ask to marry you I just want to get to know other people in the charity. I’ve worked here for years and don’t really know anyone’
Yes, well, if this is how you behave then I’m not really surprised I thought to myself. And how you have the unmitigated crust to now make this about work is beyond me. You have called me cute, a bear cub, asked me to go on the razz, said how nice it was to meet me, badgered me into telling you I’m gay in a roundabout way and not ONCE have you asked what I do here. And the fact that you snapped about not asking to marry me, because I declined your offer in a humorous way, trying to make this less embarrassing for you than it already is suggests to me that I’ve been fucked over by you being a colleague, let alone someone who I’d go and socialise with. Jesus tonight.
So I ignored it, and the email he sent me the following day asking what I got up to the night before. What is he, a rejection junkie?
I never heard or thought about him again. I had completely forgotten about the episode when my boss told me that due to a restructuring, Facilities would fall under her umbrella. I knew it was coming, I could sense it, in the same way that animals know when an earthquake is about to hit and they begin acting oddly, make strange noises and start pacing. I was doing all of this.
‘So I need to you to get some time in the diary with someone called JT. Do you know him at all?’
***sweat pouring down forehead in manner of Iguaza Falls***
‘No, but I’m sure I’ll find him on the Intranet. I’ll get that set up for you, leave it with me.’
Do I know him? Lady are you serious, I am the object of his erection. I can’t believe this. I KNOW that as soon as I contact him even though it is for business related purposes he is going to be like a preying mantis all over again. There is no way that I can call him, and based on our previous contact, it’s probably a good idea to have electronic evidence, you know, for when the trial of my having been raped and murdered comes to court, so I’ll stick with the email.
Shall I just move jobs?
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Monday, July 14, 2008
Friday, February 16, 2007
Artificial Intelligence
George Michael once sang the line “you look for your dreams in heaven, but what the hell are you supposed to do when they come true” and I am, starting to think he and I may be on the same page. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean we have a similar life, if only, I mean, my nights are spent indoors with friends having deep and meaningful’s; his are spent on Hampstead Heath knee deep in mud. He has amassed a fortune of millions eliminating the need of ever having to worry where his next meal is coming from, whilst I can get 5 meals out of a tin of beans and can stretch a fiver further than Tony Blair can stretch the truth. I simply mean that I get what he is talking about, and can relate it to my new job.
As I have said before I have always wanted to work for a charity, and got my chance late last year after being made redundant from my last job. I took a few months off to spend my redundancy money, and do the normal things that any man of the lavender persuasion does when he has got excess funds like, go see Madonna in Amsterdam, buy a new wardrobe and fill it with fabulous outfits, have a dirty little gay holiday in Gran Canaria and generally live like the other half.
Because of the money in the bank I was in a position to only apply for jobs that I wanted to, mainly within charities. However I still had to find work,and after a few months of looking I started to have this vision of me sitting behind a checkout at Tesco’s, the closest thing to charity work being me asking “are you collecting computers for schools vouchers Sir?”
Luckily it didn’t come to that, and I got my first full time job in charity*. Rather than being nervous about starting I couldn’t wait. The idea that I would be working for such a worthwhile cause really excited me, and I could only imagine what fantastic, hip cool and trendy people I would be working with. I imagined everyone sitting around feasting on mung beans, pulses and fresh air, washing it down with endless cups of chamomile tea. I pictured colleagues shouting at each other for not recycling their tea bags and going on protests where they would all tie themselves naked to trees and refuse to wash for days on end.
The reality of it all is very different. It is just an office job, like any other, the main difference being that most of the people that work here are clinically insane. It is a madhouse and I can’t shake the feeling that I am really working at some mental hospital, where everyone is convinced they work for a leading charity?
Firstly they suffer with BTBMS (back to back meeting syndrome). On my first day I had two and the other day I had four (one of them lasting for three hours in which NOTHING was achieved, except for, of course annoying the bejesus out of me). I really don’t want to sit around talking about what I have to do; I’d rather just do it. Call me crazy, but that is just the way I am. When I say I don’t have time for meetings it is frowned upon and they look at me like I have just turned up for work wearing a tutu and a Vivienne Westwood Basque.
And secondly is the language that is used. I don’t mean foul, or that we all sit around calling each other cunts all day. No, I mean the way they talk which all just sounds like a mass of consonants once they get going. My boss called me the other day and when I answered, she said “Oh bugger” and then hung up. By way of explanation she sent me the following email the next day
Dear Tequilla**
My scrambled phone call (John had disappeared for a few minutes but then he came back) was to let you know that it has now been decided that some members will not take part in our meeting!
Brain can’t compute exactly what that means but felt I should share this intelligence
Rgds
As soon as I read the email I was summoned into another meeting, with my boss, to discuss the aftermath of a conference we had recently successfully organised and brainstorm ideas of what we would do differently next time. During this meeting she decided to shorten her new favourite saying ‘share the intelligence’ when she went off on one of her long-winded tangents as follows:
“If I had a retrospectograph, giving me 20/20 hindsight, I would have shared the intel months ago'
The scariest thing is, having been here for a few months, the brainwashing is starting to work, because the above makes COMPLETE sense to me. So I looked for my dream job and this is what I got. How long before I am slipping these little sayings into my everyday life, resulting in my being sectioned and the key thrown away?
Maybe if I should just cut my losses and go back to publishing. At least class A drugs were readily available in that environment, and we did sit around calling each other cunts.
No, I have never been happier, and will continue to share the intel here, if you don't mind.
* I do other charity work, on a voluntary basis at weekends, where I stand for hours cooking meals for people with HIV & AIDS, which is the most fulfilling thing I think I have done in my life. I would urge anyone reading this to become involved in charity work, as volunteers really are the backbone of any organisation. Ok? Nuff said.
** She doesn't really call me Tequilla, she calls me.....
As I have said before I have always wanted to work for a charity, and got my chance late last year after being made redundant from my last job. I took a few months off to spend my redundancy money, and do the normal things that any man of the lavender persuasion does when he has got excess funds like, go see Madonna in Amsterdam, buy a new wardrobe and fill it with fabulous outfits, have a dirty little gay holiday in Gran Canaria and generally live like the other half.
Because of the money in the bank I was in a position to only apply for jobs that I wanted to, mainly within charities. However I still had to find work,and after a few months of looking I started to have this vision of me sitting behind a checkout at Tesco’s, the closest thing to charity work being me asking “are you collecting computers for schools vouchers Sir?”
Luckily it didn’t come to that, and I got my first full time job in charity*. Rather than being nervous about starting I couldn’t wait. The idea that I would be working for such a worthwhile cause really excited me, and I could only imagine what fantastic, hip cool and trendy people I would be working with. I imagined everyone sitting around feasting on mung beans, pulses and fresh air, washing it down with endless cups of chamomile tea. I pictured colleagues shouting at each other for not recycling their tea bags and going on protests where they would all tie themselves naked to trees and refuse to wash for days on end.
The reality of it all is very different. It is just an office job, like any other, the main difference being that most of the people that work here are clinically insane. It is a madhouse and I can’t shake the feeling that I am really working at some mental hospital, where everyone is convinced they work for a leading charity?
Firstly they suffer with BTBMS (back to back meeting syndrome). On my first day I had two and the other day I had four (one of them lasting for three hours in which NOTHING was achieved, except for, of course annoying the bejesus out of me). I really don’t want to sit around talking about what I have to do; I’d rather just do it. Call me crazy, but that is just the way I am. When I say I don’t have time for meetings it is frowned upon and they look at me like I have just turned up for work wearing a tutu and a Vivienne Westwood Basque.
And secondly is the language that is used. I don’t mean foul, or that we all sit around calling each other cunts all day. No, I mean the way they talk which all just sounds like a mass of consonants once they get going. My boss called me the other day and when I answered, she said “Oh bugger” and then hung up. By way of explanation she sent me the following email the next day
Dear Tequilla**
My scrambled phone call (John had disappeared for a few minutes but then he came back) was to let you know that it has now been decided that some members will not take part in our meeting!
Brain can’t compute exactly what that means but felt I should share this intelligence
Rgds
As soon as I read the email I was summoned into another meeting, with my boss, to discuss the aftermath of a conference we had recently successfully organised and brainstorm ideas of what we would do differently next time. During this meeting she decided to shorten her new favourite saying ‘share the intelligence’ when she went off on one of her long-winded tangents as follows:
“If I had a retrospectograph, giving me 20/20 hindsight, I would have shared the intel months ago'
The scariest thing is, having been here for a few months, the brainwashing is starting to work, because the above makes COMPLETE sense to me. So I looked for my dream job and this is what I got. How long before I am slipping these little sayings into my everyday life, resulting in my being sectioned and the key thrown away?
Maybe if I should just cut my losses and go back to publishing. At least class A drugs were readily available in that environment, and we did sit around calling each other cunts.
No, I have never been happier, and will continue to share the intel here, if you don't mind.
* I do other charity work, on a voluntary basis at weekends, where I stand for hours cooking meals for people with HIV & AIDS, which is the most fulfilling thing I think I have done in my life. I would urge anyone reading this to become involved in charity work, as volunteers really are the backbone of any organisation. Ok? Nuff said.
** She doesn't really call me Tequilla, she calls me.....
Monday, November 20, 2006
A Question of Question
Being made redundant from a job is a funny old thing, because it quite literally is how you feel about yourself. Redundant. Not needed. Defunct. You can't help but feel like a failure, especially when a company is paying thousands of pounds for you NOT to work for them any longer. It feels like you must be so supremely awful that bankrupting a company is preferable to continuing a working relationship with you. It is very hard not to take it personally. Especially when you find out 3 months after having made you redundant, your post has been refilled......... but I'll cover that in another blog. For now I just want to relive what was Wank Wednesday. The day I got the boot. And also use it as an outlet to bitch about a former colleague.
It happened this July when I, along with the rest of the Customer Services team at a well known financial publishers were all notified we were being made redundant. It was all quite shocking because of the fact I had recently been promoted to the Customer Services Manager, having worked my way up the ladder for 4 years and things were going really well, our calls statistics had improved a great deal, we achieved our annual sales target, in fact we were meeting all of our targets.The department had never performed so well, and I liked to think that it was because of some changes I had made. I had also just finished staff appraisals, given pay rises and promotions. This is why is was out of the blue when we were all called into a meeting room by the Managing Director and told that we were being made redundant.
If I am completely honest, the first thing I felt was excitement. Adrenalin kicked in and my heart was pounding at the prospect of finding a new job. Maybe I could change my career path? I had always wanted to get into charity and this could be my chance? As I looked around the room, into the eyes of my colleagues who had befallen the same fate, I saw glimpses of terror, impending doom, confusion and shock. Then I looked at a girl we all called "Question" behind her back (who was possibly the most irritating person I have ever worked with, and on more than one occasion I think all of us fantasised about giving her a back hander, right across her grubby, bulbous, blackhead infested face), Questions lip was quivering and tears were streaming down her face. "um, what does this mean, am I out of a job? My god this is awful". Most people would feel empathy for the girl, but not me, nor any other of my colleagues. Not because we were mean and needed to be checked for heart beats but because we were all full time employees, and Question came into the office part time for 5 hours a week. And all she did in those 5 hours was irritate the hell out of us all by asking and answering her own questions in the same sentence so, I felt it was just a tad insensitive of her to be worrying about her pissy part time position when we were losing our full time positions. But that was Question all over. ANNOYING
She was one of those do gooders that ever office has. Always bright, upbeat, efficient and so irritatingly enthusiastic about her work she couldn't hold a conversation that didn't involve work, or answering her own work related questions. This displayed how was completely devoid of personality Question was. she put the 'ring' into boring. In fact, I think she put the 'bore' in there too. At 21 years of age, she had the figure of a 48 year old woman who had lived on microwave meals for the past decade. Her dress sense was ILLEGAL. If there were such things as fashion felony protesters, this girl would have been egged on a regular basis. Her hair was a disaster a D-I-saster. Just a mass of straw and hay. The whole thing was a car crash, and even her walking past my desk would make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and not in a good way. She drove everyone crazy, but was oblivious to this. Even just getting an email from her would drive most people to either commit murder or commit suicide. she was annoying on so many levels, but it was her questions that people took particular offence to I think. It drove us all to distraction, especially when she would hop toward your desk every time she wanted to ask an inane, self answered question. A prime example would be "Oh, can I just ask you a quick question? I have this customer who hasn't had his copy of this months magazine and wants another one. I think I should just send him another, what do you think?" So she would ask the question, then answer it JUST to show how clever she was. She needed reassurance about anything work related, but not her hair, dress sense or figure, which I could never understand or quite fathom out. No, she seemed completely confident and self assured with her pores the size of Mars, her white head ravaged nose and the nest of rabid pigeons that she called a haircut.
Even though she was only in the office for 5 hours a week (which she spread over 3 days) Question also thought that the whole company couldn't cope without her being there for the other 35+ hours because she took it upon herself to send an email around, not just the department, but the whole company saying "I will be out of the office now until Friday when I will be here from 11:00 and until 12:00pm, Have a great week everyone" every time she left the office. There were actually audible groans from around the office whenever she sent one of her of office emails.
So cut to me, in the office being told I am being made redundant, Question is crying and I can't help but smirk. I smirk because it's embarrassing. I smirk because it's awkward. I smirk because she is pathetic. How hard can it be to get 5 hours part time work I thought? Is it really THAT devastating? Considering we were located in central London and she lived in Surbiton most of her wages were surely spent on travel, which proved to me that she really was in the office just to annoy us all.
We were all told that there was not enough work for us all, and they had 8 full time workers but only 3 full time positions available. We could apply for them. They actually expected us to all apply for a job that we already had, and go up against not just colleagues, but friends. Some of us in that room had formed really good friendships. It was all very unethical, and I had already decided to take the money and run. The Managing Director asked to see me later, and explained that if I was to apply for one of the other jobs I would have to take a demotion and a pay cut as there were going to be no managerial positions. So basically my redundancy was compulsory (This has all proved to be an utter crock of shit and they filled my position within 3 months). I accepted the redundancy, and was told my last day would be the following Friday. This came as a shock because I thought when you were made redundant, you were not needed, and as you didn't have enough work to do, or so I was being told I assumed I would leave right away.....
Well, as they say, when you assume you make an ass out of you, because the MD had made his own assumption, that everyone else would be clamboring all over each other for the other 3 positions, when in fact they all opted for redundancy too. So they fucked themselves royally, much to our amusement. Apart from of course, Question, who is still hanging on for dear life.
I did go on to change my career, and I did get into charity.
It happened this July when I, along with the rest of the Customer Services team at a well known financial publishers were all notified we were being made redundant. It was all quite shocking because of the fact I had recently been promoted to the Customer Services Manager, having worked my way up the ladder for 4 years and things were going really well, our calls statistics had improved a great deal, we achieved our annual sales target, in fact we were meeting all of our targets.The department had never performed so well, and I liked to think that it was because of some changes I had made. I had also just finished staff appraisals, given pay rises and promotions. This is why is was out of the blue when we were all called into a meeting room by the Managing Director and told that we were being made redundant.
If I am completely honest, the first thing I felt was excitement. Adrenalin kicked in and my heart was pounding at the prospect of finding a new job. Maybe I could change my career path? I had always wanted to get into charity and this could be my chance? As I looked around the room, into the eyes of my colleagues who had befallen the same fate, I saw glimpses of terror, impending doom, confusion and shock. Then I looked at a girl we all called "Question" behind her back (who was possibly the most irritating person I have ever worked with, and on more than one occasion I think all of us fantasised about giving her a back hander, right across her grubby, bulbous, blackhead infested face), Questions lip was quivering and tears were streaming down her face. "um, what does this mean, am I out of a job? My god this is awful". Most people would feel empathy for the girl, but not me, nor any other of my colleagues. Not because we were mean and needed to be checked for heart beats but because we were all full time employees, and Question came into the office part time for 5 hours a week. And all she did in those 5 hours was irritate the hell out of us all by asking and answering her own questions in the same sentence so, I felt it was just a tad insensitive of her to be worrying about her pissy part time position when we were losing our full time positions. But that was Question all over. ANNOYING
She was one of those do gooders that ever office has. Always bright, upbeat, efficient and so irritatingly enthusiastic about her work she couldn't hold a conversation that didn't involve work, or answering her own work related questions. This displayed how was completely devoid of personality Question was. she put the 'ring' into boring. In fact, I think she put the 'bore' in there too. At 21 years of age, she had the figure of a 48 year old woman who had lived on microwave meals for the past decade. Her dress sense was ILLEGAL. If there were such things as fashion felony protesters, this girl would have been egged on a regular basis. Her hair was a disaster a D-I-saster. Just a mass of straw and hay. The whole thing was a car crash, and even her walking past my desk would make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and not in a good way. She drove everyone crazy, but was oblivious to this. Even just getting an email from her would drive most people to either commit murder or commit suicide. she was annoying on so many levels, but it was her questions that people took particular offence to I think. It drove us all to distraction, especially when she would hop toward your desk every time she wanted to ask an inane, self answered question. A prime example would be "Oh, can I just ask you a quick question? I have this customer who hasn't had his copy of this months magazine and wants another one. I think I should just send him another, what do you think?" So she would ask the question, then answer it JUST to show how clever she was. She needed reassurance about anything work related, but not her hair, dress sense or figure, which I could never understand or quite fathom out. No, she seemed completely confident and self assured with her pores the size of Mars, her white head ravaged nose and the nest of rabid pigeons that she called a haircut.
Even though she was only in the office for 5 hours a week (which she spread over 3 days) Question also thought that the whole company couldn't cope without her being there for the other 35+ hours because she took it upon herself to send an email around, not just the department, but the whole company saying "I will be out of the office now until Friday when I will be here from 11:00 and until 12:00pm, Have a great week everyone" every time she left the office. There were actually audible groans from around the office whenever she sent one of her of office emails.
So cut to me, in the office being told I am being made redundant, Question is crying and I can't help but smirk. I smirk because it's embarrassing. I smirk because it's awkward. I smirk because she is pathetic. How hard can it be to get 5 hours part time work I thought? Is it really THAT devastating? Considering we were located in central London and she lived in Surbiton most of her wages were surely spent on travel, which proved to me that she really was in the office just to annoy us all.
We were all told that there was not enough work for us all, and they had 8 full time workers but only 3 full time positions available. We could apply for them. They actually expected us to all apply for a job that we already had, and go up against not just colleagues, but friends. Some of us in that room had formed really good friendships. It was all very unethical, and I had already decided to take the money and run. The Managing Director asked to see me later, and explained that if I was to apply for one of the other jobs I would have to take a demotion and a pay cut as there were going to be no managerial positions. So basically my redundancy was compulsory (This has all proved to be an utter crock of shit and they filled my position within 3 months). I accepted the redundancy, and was told my last day would be the following Friday. This came as a shock because I thought when you were made redundant, you were not needed, and as you didn't have enough work to do, or so I was being told I assumed I would leave right away.....
Well, as they say, when you assume you make an ass out of you, because the MD had made his own assumption, that everyone else would be clamboring all over each other for the other 3 positions, when in fact they all opted for redundancy too. So they fucked themselves royally, much to our amusement. Apart from of course, Question, who is still hanging on for dear life.
I did go on to change my career, and I did get into charity.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Baby, talk is cheap
The run up to Christmas always gets me worried. I worry that I am not going to have enough money to buy everyone the nice presents they have come to expect from me, which would result in me become disowned. I worry that I will not have enough money to pay my bills come the 1st of January, which will result in me being made homeless. I worry that I will not have enough money to top up my Oyster card to get to work, which would result in me being made unemployed, pretty much the same dilemas that face 99.9% of the population after overspending at this time of year. And like 99.9% of the population, I am always looking for news ways to earn myself a little cash to help buy those presents I know my friends and family will love, which is why I have jumped at the chance to be a Gay Chat Operator. The advert said you could earn up to £10 per hour from the comfort of your own home. How hard can it be? So I have decided to jump on board the chat operator express, next stop Sex Worker-ville.
I went straight to the website and downloaded a manual, and a contract. The manual was full of encouraging testimonials from other chat operators saying things like "I like the feeling of knowing the more effort I put in the more money I'll earn. It really gives me a sense of satisfaction when I get my money every two weeks" from Maria, but even more encouraging was Caroline who states "I have been working as a chat line operator for two months now and I love it! it's great fun and doesn't feel like work at all. the money is a bonus, I made £665.14 in two weeks"
Well, the contract was signed and posted along with a copy of my passport quicker than you could hum the first verse of Sade's Smooth Operator. The following day I received an email with my starter manual and had to call up the helpdesk for a log in code. In all honestly I was more terrified of calling up for my code than actually becoming an operator. These were going to be 'Real' people who probably thought that chat line operators were some sub standard species, I could picture them putting my call on loud speaker and humiliating me by saying it was all a prank and they just thought it would be funny to see if anyone out there was sad enough to do it. Well, there is, and I am.
My call to retrieve my log in was going quite smoothly I have to say. This wasn't so embarrassing I thought. Well, apart from when I asked the woman who was taking my details how long do the calls generally last and did they all tend to be very sexual."I wouldn't know I work in the office, no judgement" she bellowed. My face stung with shame and self hatred and my fear that I was on loud speaker seemed ever more real. I pictured rows of blondes, wearing tight sweaters with gargantuan nails and red lipstick typing away and laughing at me behind my back. I could not have hated myself harder than I did at that moment. But then Tasmin turned it around by saying that if I looked on page 33 of the manual it gave me more details and ideas about the sort of calls to expect.
The start up manual is very helpful, and is fully of lots of information, some of it is just pure common sense, but parts are just plain crazy. Like in the section on 'How to Get Started' it says 'To get you in the mood, think about some pleasant experiences you may have had such as: How you might talk intimately to your partner. Remember the best chat-up line you ever heard, and how you responded to it. Perhaps you went to a great party and want to talk about it.' No, my advice on how to get started is to knock back alcohol like prohibition is coming in to enable you to throw caution to the wind so that you can talk to these FREAKS. These incredibly odd people who get their kicks by somebody at the end of the line pretending that they're wearing French panties whilst preparing a three course meal and getting the kids ready for bed.
The manual also gives you a few ideas for the messages you can leave on the phone lines such as:
"Hi, my name is Steve. I'm a gay guy looking forward to talking to you and having fun. I just love hearing new voices"
or
"Hi, Transsexual Suzie here. I've got gorgeous dark glowing skin, long flowing hair and I just love talking on the phone."
I'm not sure that I will go with any of those, I was thinking more "Hi, I've had two bottles of wine, I'm likely to make no sense and be abusive, and may very well vomit during our chat. On line now waiting for your call."
Tonight will be the first time I try being a chat line operator. I feel after studying the manual for the last two days I have all the information I need to be a success. I also feel that with two bottles of Pinot Grigio in the fridge, I will have the courage to carry it off.
I went straight to the website and downloaded a manual, and a contract. The manual was full of encouraging testimonials from other chat operators saying things like "I like the feeling of knowing the more effort I put in the more money I'll earn. It really gives me a sense of satisfaction when I get my money every two weeks" from Maria, but even more encouraging was Caroline who states "I have been working as a chat line operator for two months now and I love it! it's great fun and doesn't feel like work at all. the money is a bonus, I made £665.14 in two weeks"
Well, the contract was signed and posted along with a copy of my passport quicker than you could hum the first verse of Sade's Smooth Operator. The following day I received an email with my starter manual and had to call up the helpdesk for a log in code. In all honestly I was more terrified of calling up for my code than actually becoming an operator. These were going to be 'Real' people who probably thought that chat line operators were some sub standard species, I could picture them putting my call on loud speaker and humiliating me by saying it was all a prank and they just thought it would be funny to see if anyone out there was sad enough to do it. Well, there is, and I am.
My call to retrieve my log in was going quite smoothly I have to say. This wasn't so embarrassing I thought. Well, apart from when I asked the woman who was taking my details how long do the calls generally last and did they all tend to be very sexual."I wouldn't know I work in the office, no judgement" she bellowed. My face stung with shame and self hatred and my fear that I was on loud speaker seemed ever more real. I pictured rows of blondes, wearing tight sweaters with gargantuan nails and red lipstick typing away and laughing at me behind my back. I could not have hated myself harder than I did at that moment. But then Tasmin turned it around by saying that if I looked on page 33 of the manual it gave me more details and ideas about the sort of calls to expect.
The start up manual is very helpful, and is fully of lots of information, some of it is just pure common sense, but parts are just plain crazy. Like in the section on 'How to Get Started' it says 'To get you in the mood, think about some pleasant experiences you may have had such as: How you might talk intimately to your partner. Remember the best chat-up line you ever heard, and how you responded to it. Perhaps you went to a great party and want to talk about it.' No, my advice on how to get started is to knock back alcohol like prohibition is coming in to enable you to throw caution to the wind so that you can talk to these FREAKS. These incredibly odd people who get their kicks by somebody at the end of the line pretending that they're wearing French panties whilst preparing a three course meal and getting the kids ready for bed.
The manual also gives you a few ideas for the messages you can leave on the phone lines such as:
"Hi, my name is Steve. I'm a gay guy looking forward to talking to you and having fun. I just love hearing new voices"
or
"Hi, Transsexual Suzie here. I've got gorgeous dark glowing skin, long flowing hair and I just love talking on the phone."
I'm not sure that I will go with any of those, I was thinking more "Hi, I've had two bottles of wine, I'm likely to make no sense and be abusive, and may very well vomit during our chat. On line now waiting for your call."
Tonight will be the first time I try being a chat line operator. I feel after studying the manual for the last two days I have all the information I need to be a success. I also feel that with two bottles of Pinot Grigio in the fridge, I will have the courage to carry it off.
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