Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2001-07-01 07:40 am
azurelunatic) wrote2001-07-01 07:40 am
TeleGlobal Services (TGS)
Remember, once upon a time, how I'd said that I'd found a new job? A work-at-home type job, of a telephonic nature.
Well, then the babysitting situation got straightened out, and since the job was psychically damaging to me, I decided not to take the job, and failed to sign the contract when they shipped it to me.
Well, they called once, which I ignored, and today -- today! they called at, I see by our caller ID box, at FOUR FUCKING FORTY-ONE IN THE MORNING.
Roommate picked it up. "Hello? ...We're not interested."
"Who was that?" I ask groggily from the couch.
"Telemarketers: TGS."
"Oh, fuck."
"What?"
"That was the phone sex company I was going to work for."
"Oh."
Fast forward two hours. Phone rings again. "Hello, could I speak to Jo-Ann?"
"Huh? Who?" say I, kind of muzzily realizing that they must mean me, as some people see my one-syllable name, "Joan," as the two-syllable name "Joan," the same one that the dude/chick had in I Will Fear No Evil.
"Never mind, wrong number."
Mind wakes up; realizes that this must be TGS, and they must be calling for me. Go back to couch, lie down, stew about it for a bit. I haven't had enough sleep (went to bed at 3:45) and must work at eight.
This is not just insult on top of injury, this is .... inability to find their eight hundred number and call back toll-free. Damn.
Knock on door. It is Dude's girlfriend, come to pick up her boyfriend and my nephew for their day of fun out of the house so that Sis may have a rendezvous with her boyfriend (who she has not seen in about a month and, judging from the amount and volume of bitching, really misses) in private. "Sorry I'm late; I overslept," she says.
"Thasss OK," I say, bleary-eyed.
"Oh, did I wake you up?" she wants to know.
"Noooo, the telemarketers already did that," I say. "Hey, wanna help me harrass them?"
"Sure," she says.
I pull out the calling card and proceed to call the number so thoughtfully provided on the Caller ID box.
"Someone from this number called for a Jo-Ann?" I ask.
"Yes, we were wondering if you wanted to log-in," lady on the other end says.
"CAN YOU TELL ME WHO FROM THIS COMPANY CALLED ME AT FOUR-FORTY-ONE IN THE MORNING?" I demand, still in a perfectly reasonable tone, but with considerably amplified volume.
"Ma'am, this is a twenty-four-hour company...." chick begins.
"I AM NOT A TWENTY-FOUR HOUR PERSON. I NO LONGER WORK FOR THIS COMPANY; I DID NOT SIGN YOUR CONTRACT FOR A REASON; SO PLEASE TAKE ME OFF THE FUCKING CALL LIST!" I say, still at considerable volume, and no longer with sweet reason in my voice.
"Have a n-nice d--" chick begins as I hang up the phone.
People swarm out of the woodwork from the corners of my house.
"I'm sure glad [nephew] was still asleep," says Sis, emerging in her pajamas.
"You rock, dude!" says Girlfriend.
General laughter. "I am *not* a twenty-four hour person!" is going to be a byword around here for a while.
Well, then the babysitting situation got straightened out, and since the job was psychically damaging to me, I decided not to take the job, and failed to sign the contract when they shipped it to me.
Well, they called once, which I ignored, and today -- today! they called at, I see by our caller ID box, at FOUR FUCKING FORTY-ONE IN THE MORNING.
Roommate picked it up. "Hello? ...We're not interested."
"Who was that?" I ask groggily from the couch.
"Telemarketers: TGS."
"Oh, fuck."
"What?"
"That was the phone sex company I was going to work for."
"Oh."
Fast forward two hours. Phone rings again. "Hello, could I speak to Jo-Ann?"
"Huh? Who?" say I, kind of muzzily realizing that they must mean me, as some people see my one-syllable name, "Joan," as the two-syllable name "Joan," the same one that the dude/chick had in I Will Fear No Evil.
"Never mind, wrong number."
Mind wakes up; realizes that this must be TGS, and they must be calling for me. Go back to couch, lie down, stew about it for a bit. I haven't had enough sleep (went to bed at 3:45) and must work at eight.
This is not just insult on top of injury, this is .... inability to find their eight hundred number and call back toll-free. Damn.
Knock on door. It is Dude's girlfriend, come to pick up her boyfriend and my nephew for their day of fun out of the house so that Sis may have a rendezvous with her boyfriend (who she has not seen in about a month and, judging from the amount and volume of bitching, really misses) in private. "Sorry I'm late; I overslept," she says.
"Thasss OK," I say, bleary-eyed.
"Oh, did I wake you up?" she wants to know.
"Noooo, the telemarketers already did that," I say. "Hey, wanna help me harrass them?"
"Sure," she says.
I pull out the calling card and proceed to call the number so thoughtfully provided on the Caller ID box.
"Someone from this number called for a Jo-Ann?" I ask.
"Yes, we were wondering if you wanted to log-in," lady on the other end says.
"CAN YOU TELL ME WHO FROM THIS COMPANY CALLED ME AT FOUR-FORTY-ONE IN THE MORNING?" I demand, still in a perfectly reasonable tone, but with considerably amplified volume.
"Ma'am, this is a twenty-four-hour company...." chick begins.
"I AM NOT A TWENTY-FOUR HOUR PERSON. I NO LONGER WORK FOR THIS COMPANY; I DID NOT SIGN YOUR CONTRACT FOR A REASON; SO PLEASE TAKE ME OFF THE FUCKING CALL LIST!" I say, still at considerable volume, and no longer with sweet reason in my voice.
"Have a n-nice d--" chick begins as I hang up the phone.
People swarm out of the woodwork from the corners of my house.
"I'm sure glad [nephew] was still asleep," says Sis, emerging in her pajamas.
"You rock, dude!" says Girlfriend.
General laughter. "I am *not* a twenty-four hour person!" is going to be a byword around here for a while.
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