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Today seems to be going very well, despite the rain and general gloom outside. We’re barely getting any calls, because the training class for the new customer service project has been brought out on the floor to help. Forty-eight people makes a huge difference. I’m hungry. I think I’ll get a snickers bar on my break, along with a soda.

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Here are some problems philosophers never seem to ponder, but probably should.
What exactly is the purpose of Human Resources, if not to screw up life for the people they manage to turn in to resources?
I looked at my pay check this morning.
Granted, it should have been missing about ten hours, due to an absence I took because I was sick, (which I got written up for), and a tardy I took because my transportation slept in one morning.
So I was expecting that hit.
But it’s missing nine extra hours, which means that my stupidvisor forgot to key in some hours.
there has to be another way to do this.
I can’t keep relying on my stupidvisor to do this kind of thing, because he’s incompetant, irresponsible, stupid, ignorant, and a whole host of other things.
It’s great that they have this wonderful time keeping technology, but they refuse to work around it.
I’ve brought up the possibility of my keeping a time card on paper, which gets the “no, we’re sorry, can’t do that” response.
It’s like, it’s either their way or the highway.
Checking with my superior to make sure my pay check will be accurate isn’t supposed to be part of this job description.
Is it too much to ask for things like this, which shouldn’t require a whole lot of ingenuity, to just go right, you know, that state where I don’t have to babysit my superiors, who will end up getting paid like they’ve actually done the work, while I get to be part of a continuum that shouldn’t even exist, but does because it’s all about the bottom line, so they force cue to make the numbers look like they’re supposed to?
For those who don’t know, the powers that be have decided that 100 percent service level, which means that all calls are being handled promptly, and there are none waiting in cue, (in other words, all the customers are being taken care of, and nobody’s having to wait, and we’re on top of it), is a bad thing.
Service level, according to the powers that be, should be no higher than 85 percent.
So, what happens in order to keep it there?
People get sent home, (VGH, or voluntary go home), in order to force a cue.
Why, you ask?
Because, we must do all we can, no matter what or who gets to take the brunt, as long as it’s not us, to make a profit.
And they wonder why we get angry.
Two weeks ago, they staffed 12 people.
12!
And what was the cue like?
Murderous.
And all in the name of making a profit.
Sick, completely sick.
And the only consolation we get is “Well, that’s the nature of the business.”
And this came from our local, politically informed liberal.
Go figure.

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I had hoped I could come up with a cool subject line, but that looks like it’s out of the question for now. This is going to be long, but I have no intention of cutting it. Why? Well, for one, I’m just not that considerate right now. My level of consideration for the feelings of others has been stretched to the limit, and if you don’t want to read about why, then you can just use your down arrow key to scroll past it, or your mouse, or whatever works, but whatever you do, it’s not my problem. I hope no one takes this personally. It’s just part and parcel of the rant.
As I have stated in this space before, I have an unwanted roommate. For a little while, it looked as though things were going to work themselves out. She was supposed to move back out, and I was supposed to get my life back, and start setting things back in order. And then, a little over a week ago, things went wrong. The roommate walked in, with one of her ditsy little friends, and informed me that she is staying here permanently, and that if I have any questions, I can call the manager. By Sunday, she had arranged the apartment so that the couch is now in the middle of the living room floor, with the coffee table in front of it, leaving just enough space to walk between it and the stand with the TV and DVD player on it, which, by the way, she feels is communal property, along with the XM radio, and so that means she can use them whenever she feels like it. All of this was going on while I was fighting a really bad cold/flue thingy, so it was a surprise when I walked out Sunday to get some food, and was told that the apartment had been rearranged, again. No asking, just telling. She’s a fucking pig, and she brings strange people over, lots of them guys, and she’s loud, and just generally stupid. My house is a disaster, and there are fucking roaches everywhere. I hate it. I can’t fucking stand it. She leaves food out. Yesterday morning, when Andrew came over to pick me up for work, he saw a glass of liquid, (in her case, probably Pepci), with pieces of meat floating in it, as well as half a spam sandwitch left out on the counter. Fucking spam! She used my fucking frying pan to cook the shit, and then used my dishes to serve it. And, how the hell do you manage to end up with pieces of spam in your drink? That shouldn’t be a possibility, if you’re civilized. Fucking Gentile heathen! And then, wonder of wonders, she has the chutzpah to bitch about the bugs! So she came up with the brilliant idea of bathing the kitchen in Raid. Oh! And when I mentioned that the couch needs to be put back where it was, due to the very small and insignificant fact that its current placement renders it, along with the coffee table, a safety hazzard, I was told that it can’t be moved back much further, because of the bar stools. When I suggested putting the bar stools back where they were, I was told that “it looks cute,” and how she had done such a good job redecorating the living room, and then the matter was dropped. For those who haven’t put it together, that’s an attempt at a subtle way to tell me that I can fuck off. I refuse to live like this. My kitchen is practically unusable, if you have any concern about preparing your meals in a clean environment, because it’s been infested with roaches, and then bathed in Raid, but not cleaned up after the bath, and it just wouldn’t be a good idea to make a meal with that kind of risk. My apartment’s been completely overrun with ghetto trash. In January, another one is moving in. The roommate overdrew her checking account by over $200, and can’t figure out how she did it. And even when you add up all the NSF charges, you still have $25 or so you can’t account for, and she isn’t that worried about not being able to account for it. She’s worried about not having money to spend on her birthday. No worries about bills, unless you count the cell phone bill, and that’s because she stays on that damned thing constantly. Well, I’m not going to fucking babysit. I didn’t create the drama, and I’m not going to be responsible for holding things together. I’m going to leave, in whatever way necessary, whether that be by subleasing or just moving, But if I just move, and the complex wants to give me hell about it, I’ll go to the media, and raise the issue of picking on the blink. I don’t usually play that card, but I will if I have to. Everyone I’ve talked to agrees that they would have never moved someone in on someone who is sighted, without their permission, and then come out and said that if they expected their rights and needs to be respected that it would be best if they moved. And that, my friends, is discrimination. I am not going to live in disgusting, dangerous conditions. I don’t work my ass off at Convergys only to come home and get more of the same crap. And, by the way, I got written up last week, again, this time for missing two days for having a really bad cold. Far be it from Cornelius to think, “Hey, maybe I should exclude some occurrances, since she was very obviously sick.” No, that just makes too much fucking sense. There’s that fucking L word again, and we all know how bad that is. The roommate situation makes me want to go out and purchase home protection pieces, (for those who don’t know, that’s a nice little term for guns, which probably sounds more palatable to liberal ears, coined by my friend Andrew, who likes weapons a lot despite his liberality), and come and test them on the apartment and everything and everyone in it. I don’t want to come home and hear ghetto music blaring, or stupid people talking, or anything like that, and I shouldn’t have to. I didn’t tell the little whore she could move in, and I’ll do everything in my power to get the fuck out, if I have to. I don’t want to hear about the latest condom and Ky jelly purchases, (I’m sorry, but if you’re as young as she is, and you need KY jelly, then that means you’ve really been around, hence the whore comment), and I don’t want to hear how good spam is, and I don’t want to smell the shit. I want my fucking life back, and the prospect of peace and quiet to end my day. Is that too much to ask? really? I mean, come on!
Everybody feel free to comment. Yeah, I know the begging was harsh, but like I said, it’s nothing personal. And, believe it or not, when you guys comment, it makes things a little easier. At least then, I know someone’s being entertained. I’ll keep you all posted on this situation.

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I’m finally starting to get over this cold/flue virus thingy I’ve been battling for the last week. I went to the kitchen to grab a sub sandwitch I had in the refridgerator, and found that the roommate had eaten half of it, and didn’t even wrap the other half up properly. That’s just fucking inconsiderate and rude. You don’t touch someone else’s food without permission. I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer twice, and I’m getting ready to work an eight-day stretch. Not cool. I’m waiting for the laundry to finish drying, but I really don’t feel like putting it away. Found the menorah, and it’s burning in the window right now. More later.

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I’m finally starting to get over this cold/flue virus thingy I’ve been battling for the last week. I went to the kitchen to grab a sub sandwitch I had in the refridgerator, and found that the roommate had eaten half of it, and didn’t even wrap the other half up properly. That’s just fucking inconsiderate and rude. You don’t touch someone else’s food without permission. I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer twice, and I’m getting ready to work an eight-day stretch. Not cool. I’m waiting for the laundry to finish drying, but I really don’t feel like putting it away. Found the menorah, and it’s burning in the window right now. More later.

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Well folks, it’s been ages since I’ve posted, and it’s about time for another one. It’s been so long since I’ve posted that I don’t remember what I posted about. Suffice it to say that work’s pretty much just the same crap, different day. I have a new roommate, who was moved in without my knowledge, and is here to stay permanently. She, and all of her friends, are Convergys-quality people, and by that I do not refer to the few people at Convergys who are hard-working. In short, they’re extremely trashy, people nobody with any sense would want in their house. And this one lives with me, and she brings all her friends over. They stay over till all hours of the night, and I don’t trust any of them as far as I could kick them. Thank G-d the bedroom door has a lock, because there’s no way in hell my ass is going to sleep with a bunch of strange guys in the house. I’ve been sick for the last several says. I worked a half-day today, and came home to try to get a little rest while the roommate was at work. Her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend are over here now. The sister’s about 16. The roommate’s 19. She periodically rearranges my living room at will. Yesterday, I got lucky enough to receive a warning that the living room had been arranged. All her and her friends do is blast ghetto music, and generally act retarded, like trash. They’re moving her best friend in next month. I’ve seen her too. She’s just as retarded. I have a really bad feeling I’m going to get seriously fucked because of this whole arrangement. ze’evi said he bought one of those bird grenades, the little grenade launcher that can fit in the back of a truck. I wonder if he’ll let me borrow it. I could come home one night, open the front door, and just start lobbing concussion grenades in to the place, and run them all out. Yeah, it’d destroy a whole bunch of shit, but what the hell. “I just want my life back!” It’s the night before Hanukkah, and I can’t find the menorah. I can’t think straight enough to try to figure out where I put it, and that’s assuming it wasn’t in one of the living room closets, and thus has been moved. I can’t wait until I can move.

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I’ve had a very strange weekend.
I walked in to my apartment Saturday night after work to
a bunch of strange people who had absolutely no business
being there.
There was ghetto music blaring out of my TV, my books
were all over the place, and my apartment was in the
process of being rearranged to fit somebody else’s
likes.
When I opened the door, (which was unlocked), the
intruders even had the nerve to try to joke around with
me, and tell me I was at the wrong apartment.
I thought the same thing myself, due to the fact that
the place didn’t smell like my apartment usually does,
(besides the familiar smell of the place, I had some
apple-cinnamon Glade plug-ins, and it kind of smelled
like incense, since I burn that a lot, and it smelled
like books). I’m sure when you walk into your home
after a long time away from it, you recognize familiar
smells that identify it as your home, as opposed to
someone else’s.
Well, every last bit of that was gone when I walked in
Saturday night after work.
I got no notice from the apartment management that they
wanted to move someone else in, and they have my number,
because they gave it to the woman who’s my current
roommate.
This new person isn’t a roommate, she’s an occupier.
From the information she, her mother, her aunt and some
guy who I, (and Andrew from looking at the kid who was
with him), assume is her baby’s daddy, despite what they
all say about him being just a family friend, there was
some sort of “altercation” between the invader and her
former roommates, and she got locked out of her
apartment.
No violence was involved, no threats were made, and,
according to all of them, she wasn’t the offender, and
she didn’t do anything wrong.
Yet someone decided that the situation was of emergency
importance, so much so that they had no problem telling
some strange people to just go right ahead and move into
my apartment, because this poor 19-year-old girl
couldn’t figure out how to deal with her roommates, and
because she’s alergic to cats, and because she wanted
her other roommate, who she got along with, to have a
chance to move in with her.
All of the above is absolutely not my problem, and I
could care less.
They said there was another apartment open.
Let her move into that one, after the people living
there have been notified.
It wouldn’t kill her and her friendly roommate to have
to deal with the inconvenience of walking less than a
block to be able to hang out.
Or better yet, she can grow up, and learn to resolve the
dispute with the other roommates.
I didn’t create the drama, and I shouldn’t have to bear
the consequences.
I sure as hell am not going to put up with someone
coming into my apartment, without my permission or
knowledge, and taking it over.
The contents of my cabbinets have been
rearranged, my refridgerator has been rearranged, my
stove’s in pieces, my books are all over the place.
Their excuse: “We just wanted to clean up a little.”
First of all, my apartment wasn’t dirty.
Yes, it needed to be straightened up, which I am quite
capable of doing myself, and had set aside for my next
day off.
Secondly, even if I wanted someone else to do it, I’m
quite capable of asking myself.
But that’s beyond the point.
They ended up making more of a mess than straightening.
My place is now a disaster area.
Sure, they mopped the kitchen floor, and wiped down the
kitchen.
But that’s it.
Everything else they wanted to do is just a list of
ideas, and, as I said, her shit’s all over the place in
my living room, along with my books, and the trash can
from the kitchen.
Apparently, she likes her trash can better.
I’m going to the office later today, and going seven
levels of postal.
This is completely unacceptable.
Furthermore, I’m not going to put up with it.
She is going to get the fuck out, and I will expend
every last bit of effort I can muster to get her out.
23 November 2004
It’s Tuesday now.
I went to the office yesterday afternoon.
After they gushed on about how they understood how much
of a shock it must have been to find several strangers
in my apartment, and then further to have them try to
convince me I was at the wrong apartment because they
thought it might be funny, and still further to find
that everything in my cabbinets had been rearranged, I
was told that, if I really expected my rights and needs
to be respected, then it would be best if I moved,
because this complex doesn’t cater to mature adults.
Well, that’s perfectly fine with me.
If they think I should move, so be it.
I’ll be out of here as soon as possible.
Since I started writing this last week, things have
changed yet again.
The head manager’s gotten involved, agreed that it was a
bad move on the part of the assistant manager to move
the girl in without letting me know, and has prepared a
list of apartments for her to look at in order to find a
permanent place to live, permanent being relative to the
length of her lease.
So that means she’ll be out of here soon.
That’s good, because the only praise from her mother
I’ve seen her live up to is the part about working.
Im yirtza Yehovah, this will all be over soonn, and I
can get back to my life before all the upheaval.

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I took today off work, for no other reason than I woke up this morning, and
really had no desire or motivation, of any kind, to go in to work and put up
with the shit. Not that I’m desirous or motivated on other days, but today
I coulndn’t even convince myself by pointing out to myself that’s it’s the
responsible thing to do, and that I should be doing my best to be a
conscientious worker. Just couldn’t do it, prudent or not. And it’s not
like I’m not a cinscientious worker. I’m there when I’m supposed to be, and
the only days I take are the ones allotted to me by Convergys. Well, today
I decided to take one just because I could. I earned some absences back on
the 30th of September, so I’m not in danger of being fired, at least on
account of attendance. Fruthermore, this one will roll off on the 19th of
December, and I’ll also have two more that will roll off at the beginning of
December, because it will have been a calendar year since they occurred. I
look at this as giving myself some unpaid time off, since the company isn’t
going to be gracious enough to do it. I deserve some extra days off too,
and I shouldn’t have to wait until the moon is in the right phase, the
planets are properly aligned, and all the omens point to an advantageous day
before I get some extra time off.

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I just looked at my paycheck online. I only got paid for 64 hours. That’s a little over a week and a half. Fucking Cornelius! Why does he have to be so incompetant? The little shit probably keyed in my hours incorrectly, *again*, because I know I was there, and worked, for 80 hours within that pay period. Fuck me! And given the supervisor changes going on, I’m not sure who I’m supposed to go to about this. If I go straight to HR, they’ll just tell me to go to my supervisor. I hate that fucking job! Why can’t I just go in to work sedated, or drunk? I mean, it would be easier to deal with it that way. I thought about going for benefits, but why would I want to do that when they keep fucking up my paycheck, and I have to make some serious rearrangements just to get my fucking bills paid? GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!

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OK, I’m going on record with the following:
Jerry, you are an idiot. For everyone else’s amusement, or eddification,
whichever you choose, or maybe even disgust, Jerry sold a $1100 Dectalk
Express for three cartons of cigarettes and a wireless NIC. Even if you buy
the most expensive cigarettes, and the most expensive wireless NIC, you
still aren’t even close to half the falue of a Dectalk. That has got to be
the most pathetic thing I’ve seen in a long time, with the exception of the
Convergys stuff. Come on! I know people who are in to drugs hard core that
aren’t that desperate. And it’s only cigarettes! Did you get high-grade
ones or something, or some cheap brand like basics? And you can get a
wireless NIC for about $60! And when the cigarettes are gone, then what?
Jerry, I don’t mean to disrespect you or anything, but if you’re going to
get rid of your hardware, make sure you get something at least close to
equivalent in return. YOu can’t even call what you did bartering. Some
people never figure it out.

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I started this entry last night.
I looked at some random Convergys stats today. Here they are, or, rather, the most important one:
We had 167 agents as of last month. Now, we have 145. That means that they fire an average of one agent every few days.
Today was really bad. I spent the whole day being screamed at by pharmacists, the high-point of which was being yelled at by some guy who couldn’t electronically reverse claims, and told me that *I* was going to sit on the phone with him all night if necessary, until *I* came up with some answers, and they had better be satisfactory ones, yesterday. When I told him that he needed to talk to his software vender, he launched in to a huge rant about my irresponsibility, and various and sundry insults, and of course, I sat there, like a good little Convergys bitch, and took it. I hate that place, and the people, and the work. One of these days, I’m going to reacquaint myself with my inner no.
The supervisor position has been posted. For those who don’t know, my supervisor, as well as another one, were only temporary supervisors, which means that they only kept the position for six months. After that, the position reopens, and they, along with anyone else who wants to, have to reapply. I think my supervisor’s scared he won’t get the position, because he and the other temp are far from the only ones applying. The other temp’s gotten himself in to trouble because of his going around and talking to agents when they’re supposed to be on the phones, and as a result they log in to aftercall or something like that to carry on a conversation with him, and it’s finally aroused the ire of Ashley, who works service level. I don’t think my supervisor will get it, because he’s really not that smart, or assertive, and I don’t think he’ll get lucky and pass the interview process a second time, if he didn’t have friends in HR the first time. And if that little idiot ends up back in the agent pool, he knows he’s screwed just like the rest of us, and he’ll be screwed by some of us, because he’s spent his time as a supervisor abusing his power, and screwing us over. If he’s no longer a supervisor, then he’s equal to us, and fair game. I have mixed feelings about all this, to tell the truth. Part of me wants to see the little bastard get eaten alive, because he’s acted like a weasle since he’s been a supervisor, and abused his power. But part of me also pitties him, because I know, and he probably has some inkling too, that a supervisory position at Convergys is the only form of power he will ever have, and the “general population” at Convergys can be pretty brutal, even if you haven’t done anything. All they have to do is perceive that you’ve done something, and you’re fair game. I can only imagine what it’ll be like if either my supervisor or the other temp get thrown back in to the fray. Either way, though, I’m not going to loose any sleep over it. They’ve made their beds, (or dug their graves), and now it’s going to be time for one of them to lay back and enjoy the upcoming ride.

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Well fellow journalers, unfortunately, I have more crap to report from the Cue Continuum. I got my second quality write up on Thursday, for transferring a doctor to prior authorization when he specifically asked me to do just that, and after he had given me his name. But this time, the disciplinary action wasn’t administered in the monitoring room. It was administered on the floor, at the supervisor desk, in front of G-d and everybody. Quite humiliating. I tried to fight it. I turned what my stuporvisor was probably thinking would be a ten minute incident into one that lasted over an hour. When my stuporvisor said that I was given a 51.11 by quality for the above-mentioned call, and that he was giving me my written warning, (to my recollection, it was supposed to be one summary of discussion, one verbal, one written, and then you’re gone, but apparently I’m wrong. It’s one verbal, one written and then you’re gone), I protested as much as I could. Quality said I insisted on transferring the doctor to PA. Apparently saying “Let me transfer you to prior authorization” is now insisting. Quality also said I didn’t get his information. He gave me his name. What was I supposed to do, keep him on the line, get all his information, even though he specifically asked to be transferred to PA, only to have him repeat his info again? That would make three times for him to repeat his info. Apparently, however, I’m to do just that. And when I asked if my overall record would be considered when and/or if it came to the point of “termination” (after all, I have a quality score of 100 percent, with the exception of the two calls that quality has given me below 90 on, I’m always there, on time, and I do my work without complaint), and I was given the corporate version of no. I took it all the way to Jeff, who is the business manager, and got the same answer, and was told that ‘This is written in stone, and was decided by management, Express Scripts, and Human Resources. If you want to dispute it, you can go to Human resources.) In other words, Jeff, Dionne, and Miguel negotiated it, and Convergys aggreed to sacrifice its employees for the sake of Express Scripts’ pleasure and in order to keep the contract. We all know what will happen if I go to HR. They’ll fill out a paper, saying they’re investigating it, and it’ll go nowhere. Meanwhile, I suppose I’ll just have to remember not to trust my own judgment, because no matter what I have for a record, and no matter how hard I’ve worked, I’ll get shit on in the end, and canned if I don’t. I’ll just have to start asking tons of questions as well, so I don’t run the risk of running afowl of the almighty quality gods. And as if that’s not enough, the database has been “upgraded”, and as a result I get a big, huge long java eror whenever I try to do an override, and they’re blaming it on Jaws, and it’s apparently my responsibility to fix it, since I’m the only one who uses Jaws, and if it’s not fixed, I’ll probably be told that it’s best if I resign. For those who don’t know, overrides are a large part of what we do. I’m telling you right now, if they fire me, I’ll make a huge scene. If they’re going to escort me off the property, I’m going to give them a reason to, and I’ll make them go so far as to call the cops. I hate working for a company that treats its bottom-rung employees like shit, and where even the supervosirs will stab you in the back. When it came to my write-up Thursday, my supervisor went to John, who was my trainer, and apparently John told him that we’re not to supposed to transfer doctors to PA when they ask to be transferred. Only I’ve had several other agents who have worked there almost as long as I have tell me that we can do that. Fucking liberal bastard! For one thing, I don’t remember him even addressing that in training. Furthermore, like I said, I’ve had several agents tell me that what I did was correct, so if it’s not, when why aren’t more people being written up by quality for the same thing? I’m not a conspiracy theorist, and I always try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but all this week has done is to reinforce my belief that they’re gunning for me, and they’re not going to stop until I’m gone. Yeah well, when they do finally get rid of me, I’m going to make sure that they create a martyr. I’m not going quietly, or meekly. I’m going to be extremely vocal about it. So, if any of you here about me getting in trouble with the cops, don’t be surprised.
Feel free to comment with your thoughts, as well as oppinions.

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Today is 29 Elul, the final day of the year 5764, according to the Jewish calendar. In light of that fact, I’d like to take this time to offer all of you my wish that you be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life for a happy, sweet, prosperous and joyous year. I hope all goes well for you all, and that you don’t have too many pitfalls to deal with.

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Coming up next on “As The Claim Processes,” alternately known as “As The Cluster Fucks,”:
#100048365 of Convergys, (otherwise known as Amanda), gets a verbal warning, (a mild form of writing-up, or disciplinary action, for those who have remained undefiled by the Convergys).
I was busy taking the phone calls yesterday afternoon, (we’re taking on the call volume for the FT. Pierce center due to their recent encounter with Hurricane Francess), and I was asked by my supervisor to “log into coaching and come to the monitoring room.” For those ex-Convergysites who were never blessed with the opportunity to go to the monitoring room, here follows a brief description of the path taken and the destination reached.
The monitoring room is hidden somewhere within the bowels of the building, out of the way of everything else, and it shares a back wall with the quality room, where the actual quality decisions get made. Think of the monitoring room as … uh … the anal deposit box for quality. You should think of it in this way because, whenever quality wants to shit on you, this is where you’ll be when it happens. And now that you have the preliminaries down, we can return to the entertainment portion of the program.
So I was led away to the monitoring room, and informed that I received an 82.22 percent on one of my calls. Let me state here that the rules have been changed, and the antie been upped. It’s no longer three 0 calls and you’re gone. It’s now three calls under 90 percent and you’re gone. For the first offense, you receive a verbal warning, followed by a written one for the second offense, and “termination due to quality” for the third. I was penalized for the following: Failing to obtain the medication, strength and prescription number from the pharmacist for the claim in question. The pharmacist had given the medication and strength, and had completely spelled out the problem, but I was penalized for not getting the prescription number, and they called it faliling to identify the drug. I was penalized for not keeping the pharmacist informed, after I had already informed the pharmacist I was performing an override for the claim in question, and was in the midst of performing the override. We’re apparently supposed to treat these people like they’re stupid, and can’t figure out what’s going on, even after we’ve informed them. I think maybe I should just say to them, in a mechanical voice, so that I fulfill all the “quality” requirements: “now performing … (name task) … Please wait” every 30 seconds or so, in order to avoid “dead air”, as they call it. The next thing I was penalized for was not asking the pharmacist if they needed further assistance, after the pharmacist had already stated that that was all they needed. “Would you like a hot apple assistance with that????”
My supervisor tried to stop quality from taking as many points as they did, but they wouldn’t budge on it. So I got the verbal warning, and thus have to try my best not to use my brain, or I’ll receive further disciplinary action. I! Hate! This! Fucking! Job!!!! The whole thing is fucking ridiculous. Customer service sucks. And I’m tired of taking it up the ass for $8.50 an hour. Yes, it’s finally $8.50 an hour. So I’m going to keep at this as long as I can, and save up the money, and get the fuck away from Convergys.

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I figure since I have the day off, I’ll take this opportunity to post. Things are fucked-up as usual at work. I came down with something this week, still haven’t figured out whether it was food poisoning or some sort of stomach virus, but either way, the end result was the same. Lots of output … uh, I mean, pukage. And you’d think that the folks I work for would have let me take the two days necessary to get over it, right? Wrong! I had to go to work, and literally go puke between phone calls. I was pretty muchy over it by about 10:00 last night, but I honestly have no idea how I made it through the last two days. I know I took the phone calls, though, and that I still have a job, so it must not have been below Convergys standard. What a bunch of bullshit. I do know that puking on my supervisor seemed like a really good idea at the time, but I just never managed to have to puke when he was around. Puking on the operations manager would have been cool too. We have a bunch of new people at work for the AT&T project, and they’re pretty much the same kind of people, except they’re loud and obnoxious. Or maybe that was the fact that I really wasn’t feeling good coming in to play. Probably a little of both. Anyway, they’ve turned the pattio, which used to be a haven for smokers and other normal people in to some sort of … well … an extention of the floor, without the beep. So no more peace after 7:00. They’ve switched my lunch to around 8:00 or 9:00, and that used to mean peace and quiet while I ate. That was the only good thing about it. But not any more. And now they’re telling us that they don’t want us hitting the mute button to make comments about pharmacists being stupid, because it damages the morale of the other employees. Pretty soon, they’ll make it a rule. YOu know how it is, they know that most of us, even the smart ones, do the bare minimum, because, what’s the point of working extra hard when they’re going to screw you anyway? My supervisor was blocking the door last night, asking those on their way out if they would work some overtime. He got a resounding “no” from most. So he and the other supervisors had to get on the phone. That was funny. John was watching the cue, and got on Terry for being in aftercall. That was hilarious, but what was even funnier was Terry’s response. When John asked him what he was in, (aftercall or auto-in), Terry told him that he was in whatever he wanted to be in. It’s funny what happens when you put one supervisor in charge of another. It’s like a mini-agent-supervisor relationship on display.

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As the subject says, this has been an interesting one. Andrew got bitten by the Bohican, (for those who don’t know, “Bohican” is an acronym for “Bend Over Here It Comes Again”, signifying the monster that inhabits Convergys, seeking to get any employee, and screw them in whatever way possible, having a fond taste for the hard-working employees, and is probably in the direct employ of Human Resources, but obeys the business manager, operations manager, service level, and any other supervisor who chooses to harness its power). We were in cue as usual Wednesday night, but the supervisor in charge had an extremely low level of competence, “when is that ever a surprise), and thus didn’t realize that Andrew was in the wrong split, and consequently, wasn’t taking as many phone calls as the rest of us. So, said supervisor takes the logical course of action, and brings the matter to the attention of Andrew’s supervisor. After all, we can’t have acting supervisors being shown as incompetent, can we? As a result of the acting supervisor going to Andrew’s supervisor, Andrew was fired the next day. There were two supervisors who tried to come to his defense, but by the time they found out what was happening, crucifixion-on-the-down-low had already begun. But Andrew didn’t go like a lamb to the slaughter. When he cam back on the floor to get his stuff, he announced to every agent there that they need to watch their back, because Convergys has a knife ready for each of them too, and they have no problem sacrificing their employees in order to avoid looking idiotic, or better yet, better one man go than actually spend the time and effort to fix the system already in place. The human Resources director informed Andrew that he had two minutes to get off the floor. Andrew asked if it looked like he was dallying, and told the HRD that they could take his money away, but they weren’t getting his turkey sandwitches. The whole thing was tragic and funny at the same time. Andrew was a hard worker, and his not being there makes a difference. AFter all, when 85 percent or more of the other people there don’t work, it’s hard enough. But when yo lose a hard worker on top of that, it gets even more difficult. Andrew says he’s willing to take me back and forth to work, for which I am very appreciative. But, apparently, the Human Resources director cursed Andrew with the power of the Bohican, because when he was taking me home from work Thursday night, his radiator blew. As a result I’ll be cabbing it back and forth, and everywhere else I need to go, until further notice. very very expensive. On top of that, I was informed by my supervisor, (who happens to be the same acting supervisor from the story just told), on Friday that “we’re having a pot-luck” on Tuesday. How the hell am I supposed to provide something, and have enough for sixteen people, given the current situation? Any ideas would be appreciated, as well as overall suggestions. Everybody take care.