What I'm up to now.
I work in the collections department at Wells Fargo. That's right, I collect money on past due accounts for a beeeg eeevil corporation. It has to be one of the most despised jobs in the world... I'm the douchebag who calls every day looking for my money. I'm feared, hated, and abused by mortgage holders all over the country.
If you can brush off being sworn at every day, it's a pretty good job. I call people about late mortgage payments and genuinely try to help them get caught up. Not only am I easily the nicest collector on the team, I'm also currently the 11th best in the country in the real estate collections department after only two months at the job. Whoopdeeshit.
Sometimes, the people I call take advantage of me. Sometimes, little old ladies keep me on the phone for 20 minutes talking about how their grandson just went to prison after robbing her. Sometimes, people tell me they're going to find me and kill me. Sometimes, men break down crying about having to pay for a house inhabited by their wives and their wives' boyfriends.
Every day, I eat alone in the break room and read. I generally try to avoid making friends. I can't imagine making too many among those bloated bourgeois pigs or the bleached self-tanned-orange ex-teeny boppers, or the recently married college grads who only talk about their house, baseball team or children.
At night, I come home and "read books." I then watch all of the adult swim and Daily Show/Colbert report I missed on the TiVo or slog through all of the DVDs I've been meaning to watch. Unfortunately, when I get home from work, that's about all I have energy for. At least, until the Wellbutrin I bummed from Em kicks in. I hope to be going out with Mike Harper more often and act less like the shut in I am.
I also hope to start working out at the Y. Oddly enough, though I sit in a chair all day, I'm losing weight.
Life is crap right now. I'm pathetically hoping for something or someone to come along and change it.
If you can brush off being sworn at every day, it's a pretty good job. I call people about late mortgage payments and genuinely try to help them get caught up. Not only am I easily the nicest collector on the team, I'm also currently the 11th best in the country in the real estate collections department after only two months at the job. Whoopdeeshit.
Sometimes, the people I call take advantage of me. Sometimes, little old ladies keep me on the phone for 20 minutes talking about how their grandson just went to prison after robbing her. Sometimes, people tell me they're going to find me and kill me. Sometimes, men break down crying about having to pay for a house inhabited by their wives and their wives' boyfriends.
Every day, I eat alone in the break room and read. I generally try to avoid making friends. I can't imagine making too many among those bloated bourgeois pigs or the bleached self-tanned-orange ex-teeny boppers, or the recently married college grads who only talk about their house, baseball team or children.
At night, I come home and "read books." I then watch all of the adult swim and Daily Show/Colbert report I missed on the TiVo or slog through all of the DVDs I've been meaning to watch. Unfortunately, when I get home from work, that's about all I have energy for. At least, until the Wellbutrin I bummed from Em kicks in. I hope to be going out with Mike Harper more often and act less like the shut in I am.
I also hope to start working out at the Y. Oddly enough, though I sit in a chair all day, I'm losing weight.
Life is crap right now. I'm pathetically hoping for something or someone to come along and change it.