built to spill
My job indefinately blows. I could go on forever about it, but let's just say...it sucks harder than Jenna Jameson on four pops of Ecstasy, a line of coke, and a freighter full of well-endowed sailors with vanilla shake-flavored dicks. Yes. It's that bad. I'm not even going to tell you how bad it blows...
HOWEVER. On occasion there are the top five moments that have made me happy I did not strangle myself with the telephone wire. (Summary: in case you hadn't heard, my job is to call people and ask them surveys to follow-up on the excellent service they had done at the [fill in shittly long ass name I cannot pronounce] Dealership. All I talk to are pricks, shits, and the occasional bored-as-fuck housewife. Easy, but hell.)
In order:
5) Calling this old lady's answer machine that went, "Jaysus, I cannot fuckin' figure this shit out. Ken. KEN! What's the fucking button I push to record on this goddam thing? [ken: MOTHER. It is RECORDING.] Well, how the fuck would I know that?! It's fucking beeping. [ken: MOTHER. Tell them I'm not home.] JAYSUS. They fuckin' heard you, you dumbass. -chuckle- I think the beeping is-" Tone.
4)Getting the answer machine to the woman that SANG (in a horribly tuned, but incredibly cool) her answer machine message.
3)When the phones go down for 40 minutes. ON THE CLOCK. There is a God.
2)Getting the phone menu: "This is Julie's Naughty Kitten Sex Shop. Press 1 if you wanna be SPANKED, press 2 if you feel DIRTY, and press 3 if you like it HARD. Press 0 for the operator."
1) I TOTALLY SPOKE TO STEVEN SPEILBERG'S MOTHER.
I'm like the fucking telemarketer to the fucking STARS.
Who wants to touch me?
I watched War of the Worlds today (just to celebrate Stevey's Moms) and decided I'm turning in my two week notice on Monday. I can take being your shoe-shit for five/six weeks and I'm done.
HOWEVER. On occasion there are the top five moments that have made me happy I did not strangle myself with the telephone wire. (Summary: in case you hadn't heard, my job is to call people and ask them surveys to follow-up on the excellent service they had done at the [fill in shittly long ass name I cannot pronounce] Dealership. All I talk to are pricks, shits, and the occasional bored-as-fuck housewife. Easy, but hell.)
In order:
5) Calling this old lady's answer machine that went, "Jaysus, I cannot fuckin' figure this shit out. Ken. KEN! What's the fucking button I push to record on this goddam thing? [ken: MOTHER. It is RECORDING.] Well, how the fuck would I know that?! It's fucking beeping. [ken: MOTHER. Tell them I'm not home.] JAYSUS. They fuckin' heard you, you dumbass. -chuckle- I think the beeping is-" Tone.
4)Getting the answer machine to the woman that SANG (in a horribly tuned, but incredibly cool) her answer machine message.
3)When the phones go down for 40 minutes. ON THE CLOCK. There is a God.
2)Getting the phone menu: "This is Julie's Naughty Kitten Sex Shop. Press 1 if you wanna be SPANKED, press 2 if you feel DIRTY, and press 3 if you like it HARD. Press 0 for the operator."
1) I TOTALLY SPOKE TO STEVEN SPEILBERG'S MOTHER.
I'm like the fucking telemarketer to the fucking STARS.
Who wants to touch me?
I watched War of the Worlds today (just to celebrate Stevey's Moms) and decided I'm turning in my two week notice on Monday. I can take being your shoe-shit for five/six weeks and I'm done.