Argie Barji
I was in yesterday, on my day off, for no extra money to put up Christmas decorations to surprise Bernard, the Call Centre Operations manager. Brenda has been planning it for days, “I want to get the ‘wow factor’ when he walks in the office.”
She didn’t turn up. She left it to Janice, Tony and I.
For who’s benefit is all this for?
I often ask this question to myself at times like this. I suppose the text-book response is ‘The Customer’. I expect Mrs Norris of Bath couldn’t give a flying figgy pudding if we Christmas decorations or not; she just wants her reusable DVD wipes in time to entertain her guests at Christmas.
Is it for the benefit of the staff that I am clambering over desks and swinging from post to post with only a swivel chair saving me from certain death? What possible pleasure can they get from golden streamers and plastic Santas?
Ultimately, Brenda has it right, Bernard is going to get the most from the idea that the Team Manager’s have pulled together to “make the Call Centre come alive” to “motivate the staff.”
Once we had finished, we sat back and admired our work, “It looks like our local tandori.” Tony said.
There’s been nervousness around the place since the latest news of call centres moving to India. “I heard that they work 14 hours a day, 6 days a week, without a break, for the price of a chicken tikka masala.” I overheard Tizzy talking to one of the temps earlier in the week.
“Well most of them are graduates and they are TRAINED to speak in different British accents. They can get extra pay for every accent they master.” Greg, the Artful Dodger chipped in.
“What like, if you can a brummy accent you get an extra samsosa every week?” Simon, the Craig David looky-likey, asked.
“Yep.”
“Can you imagine if they introduced that in this call centre? I can’t understand a word those people from Birmingham say.” Tizzy said, looking worried.
The Plague-Carrier, another one of the temps, joined in. “As Mike Harding once said: Brummies don’t talk, they sing, and if you haven’t got the words, yer buggered.”
They all had a go at a Birmingham accent. It sounded like an episode of Crossroads sponsored by Bobby Davro.
Call Centre Confidential is my diary as a Team Manager. Next stop Bombay (and back).
7 Dec 2003
4 Dec 2003
Making Plans for Nigel
“Sooty’s coming back.” Call Centre Tony came over to the team.
I was wide-eyed, frazzled and mithered by a thousand questions. My headset was out of its velvet-lined box and in the middle of dealing with a complaint about the ‘Chocolate Biscuit Rack’ from the catalogue – Hob Nobs don’t fit on it apparently – “What?” I replied with a hint of irritation, I wasn’t in the mood for Tony today.
“Sooty’s back into the fold and we need to give him a good home-coming son. The time he came to the eighties day dressed as Austin Powers is probably the happiest day of my life.” Tony said with a wide smirk. “He’s coming back and we will be able to terrorise him.”
Sooty was Tony’s name for Nigel – who used to have Brenda’s job before he was moved out of the way by Bernard – he had a big Yorkshire Ripper beard on his security pass, hence Sooty (Peter Sutcliffe).
I was distracted. Greg, one of the temps, was dropping off to sleep in the middle of a call. He was working as a glass-collector in the evenings at a local pub. The pro-plus was wearing off.
Tony continued: “Do you remember the abuse we used to give him whenever he attempted to bollock us. He hadn’t the nerve to do it in his own name so used to say ‘Bernard is unhappy with your sales performance’. I’d say, ‘tell him to stick it up his arse, and stick MiniMe up there with it, Austin.’ He never knew what to say.”
“Greg!” I shouted over, ignoring Tony.
Greg leapt into the air and said, “Sorry, are these dead mate?”
“Sooty’s coming back.” Call Centre Tony came over to the team.
I was wide-eyed, frazzled and mithered by a thousand questions. My headset was out of its velvet-lined box and in the middle of dealing with a complaint about the ‘Chocolate Biscuit Rack’ from the catalogue – Hob Nobs don’t fit on it apparently – “What?” I replied with a hint of irritation, I wasn’t in the mood for Tony today.
“Sooty’s back into the fold and we need to give him a good home-coming son. The time he came to the eighties day dressed as Austin Powers is probably the happiest day of my life.” Tony said with a wide smirk. “He’s coming back and we will be able to terrorise him.”
Sooty was Tony’s name for Nigel – who used to have Brenda’s job before he was moved out of the way by Bernard – he had a big Yorkshire Ripper beard on his security pass, hence Sooty (Peter Sutcliffe).
I was distracted. Greg, one of the temps, was dropping off to sleep in the middle of a call. He was working as a glass-collector in the evenings at a local pub. The pro-plus was wearing off.
Tony continued: “Do you remember the abuse we used to give him whenever he attempted to bollock us. He hadn’t the nerve to do it in his own name so used to say ‘Bernard is unhappy with your sales performance’. I’d say, ‘tell him to stick it up his arse, and stick MiniMe up there with it, Austin.’ He never knew what to say.”
“Greg!” I shouted over, ignoring Tony.
Greg leapt into the air and said, “Sorry, are these dead mate?”
3 Dec 2003
Firing Blanks
A little brass boy holding his willy sits, pride of place, on my desk. A famous Belgian, apparently, it’s a trophy from Zoe (My Boyfriend Is A Twat) for winning ‘The Blogger of the week’ vote a few weeks ago.
I’m proud of it, but I daren’t say where it has come from. There’s only Fag Ash Lil and Call Centre Tony who know about the blog and I intend to keep it that way following the scare story on Blogspot:
“If you end up getting yourself fired for blogging, deep down you must have really wanted out of that job. If that's the case, keep blogging. With your newfound status as one of only a handful of people in the world who have been "fired for blogging," you should be able to grab some headlines. Fan those flames! You could wind up on Oprah with a million dollar book deal. Theoretically.”
Optimistic advice from Blogger.
Knowing my luck I’d end up on Trashy Trisha, and have to undergo a DNA test for some cracker-spawn I have never seen before, ever, in my life, honest.
A little brass boy holding his willy sits, pride of place, on my desk. A famous Belgian, apparently, it’s a trophy from Zoe (My Boyfriend Is A Twat) for winning ‘The Blogger of the week’ vote a few weeks ago.
I’m proud of it, but I daren’t say where it has come from. There’s only Fag Ash Lil and Call Centre Tony who know about the blog and I intend to keep it that way following the scare story on Blogspot:
“If you end up getting yourself fired for blogging, deep down you must have really wanted out of that job. If that's the case, keep blogging. With your newfound status as one of only a handful of people in the world who have been "fired for blogging," you should be able to grab some headlines. Fan those flames! You could wind up on Oprah with a million dollar book deal. Theoretically.”
Optimistic advice from Blogger.
Knowing my luck I’d end up on Trashy Trisha, and have to undergo a DNA test for some cracker-spawn I have never seen before, ever, in my life, honest.
1 Dec 2003
Titfer
One of the new temps is a plague-carrier. His nose dripped onto the keyboard earlier today. He keeps sneezing and saying to customers, “sorry about that. Where was I? I have decimal places in all the wrong places.”
I suppose I should be happy that he is making the effort.
At the other extreme, I have Simon, the Craig David looky-likey, who is off work at the drop of his hat: “It fell off my head and hit my toe sir.”
One of the new temps is a plague-carrier. His nose dripped onto the keyboard earlier today. He keeps sneezing and saying to customers, “sorry about that. Where was I? I have decimal places in all the wrong places.”
I suppose I should be happy that he is making the effort.
At the other extreme, I have Simon, the Craig David looky-likey, who is off work at the drop of his hat: “It fell off my head and hit my toe sir.”
30 Nov 2003
Tap and Unwrap
“Hi Honey.” Brenda came over, smiling and shrugging at the same time. She press-ganged me into coming in next Saturday, in my own time, for no extra money, to put up Christmas decorations. “It’s time to deck the halls …” she sang. Honk. Honk.
I’d like to deck her.
All hell is breaking lose at the call centre. Queues of customers have been smashing into the headsets like waves against the shore.
The temps are useless. The scrawny, Artful Dodger is almost horizontal in his chair. “Greg!”
“Grunt.” He replies.
“There’s no point shrugging. You’re on the phone they can’t see you.”
I’ve just come off a complaint from a customer who was unhappy at missing the Christmas deadline for personalised pound coin holders.
“What can I tell my grandchildren on Christmas day when they come to open their presents and there’s nothing there?” She said indignantly.
I’ve saved them from a fate worse than a chocolate orange. My work here is done.
“Hi Honey.” Brenda came over, smiling and shrugging at the same time. She press-ganged me into coming in next Saturday, in my own time, for no extra money, to put up Christmas decorations. “It’s time to deck the halls …” she sang. Honk. Honk.
I’d like to deck her.
All hell is breaking lose at the call centre. Queues of customers have been smashing into the headsets like waves against the shore.
The temps are useless. The scrawny, Artful Dodger is almost horizontal in his chair. “Greg!”
“Grunt.” He replies.
“There’s no point shrugging. You’re on the phone they can’t see you.”
I’ve just come off a complaint from a customer who was unhappy at missing the Christmas deadline for personalised pound coin holders.
“What can I tell my grandchildren on Christmas day when they come to open their presents and there’s nothing there?” She said indignantly.
I’ve saved them from a fate worse than a chocolate orange. My work here is done.
26 Nov 2003
Poetry in Motion
“What are you reading?” Call Centre Tony entered his canteen confessional. I had found a greased-stained copy of yesterday’s free newspaper.
“I’m reading an interview with some chap who used to be a poet but he’s written a story about a bloke who feeds up a woman in a hotel for sexual kicks.” I said.
“I might have known that you, Timothy fuckin’ Lumsden, would be reading about bleedin’ poetry.” He snatched the paper. “He looks a right dick. He looks like he’d have a stuffed bird kept in a Trust House Forte.”
“It’s a story. It sounds interesting.” I said.
Tony started to read the article in his best John Major voice. “”Poetry can intimidate people and can wrongly perceived as a bit highbrow””
He looked mock scared. Then said, out of the side of his mouth, “Poetry isn’t intimating. Twenty of United’s finest in the Stretford End – THAT’s fuckin’ intimidating.”
I didn’t bother asking Tony if he wanted to join Nigel’s lunch-time reading group.
“What are you reading?” Call Centre Tony entered his canteen confessional. I had found a greased-stained copy of yesterday’s free newspaper.
“I’m reading an interview with some chap who used to be a poet but he’s written a story about a bloke who feeds up a woman in a hotel for sexual kicks.” I said.
“I might have known that you, Timothy fuckin’ Lumsden, would be reading about bleedin’ poetry.” He snatched the paper. “He looks a right dick. He looks like he’d have a stuffed bird kept in a Trust House Forte.”
“It’s a story. It sounds interesting.” I said.
Tony started to read the article in his best John Major voice. “”Poetry can intimidate people and can wrongly perceived as a bit highbrow””
He looked mock scared. Then said, out of the side of his mouth, “Poetry isn’t intimating. Twenty of United’s finest in the Stretford End – THAT’s fuckin’ intimidating.”
I didn’t bother asking Tony if he wanted to join Nigel’s lunch-time reading group.
24 Nov 2003
Gnome Sweet Gnome
There’s something about the Gnome with eyes that scare cats off your lawn. Its like a totem sat in the middle of the team, warding off evil … and the temps.
I used to be a temp so I suppose I should have some empathy. When I graduated I joined a rent-a-mob agency that never managed to find a suitable job for me. To be fair, they gave up when they sent me to a firm of accountants and I made some crack about double entry.
The cut glass in the gnome’s eye sockets is in wonky so it looks boss-eyed; it follows you around the room with a Michael-Myers-fixed expression.
It would put the willies up any pussy.
You see – I can’t help myself!
There’s something about the Gnome with eyes that scare cats off your lawn. Its like a totem sat in the middle of the team, warding off evil … and the temps.
I used to be a temp so I suppose I should have some empathy. When I graduated I joined a rent-a-mob agency that never managed to find a suitable job for me. To be fair, they gave up when they sent me to a firm of accountants and I made some crack about double entry.
The cut glass in the gnome’s eye sockets is in wonky so it looks boss-eyed; it follows you around the room with a Michael-Myers-fixed expression.
It would put the willies up any pussy.
You see – I can’t help myself!
23 Nov 2003
Consider yourself part of the furniture
Last week, a job lot of temps were herded into the Call Centre in preparation for the pre-Christmas rush of orders for novelty items from The Catalogue That Cannot Be Named. They preen and coo like those aliens in Toy Story. Everything fascinates them on their first day, like they have just stepped out of their flying saucer; after that they get bored and start abusing the other staff and customers.
This lot are a real bunch of ragamuffins. Pheobe, the training officer, has been overseeing their induction training like Fagin with a top-knot and Armani glasses: “Once you’ve been induced then you’ll be on the phones speaking to REAL people.”
“Coooooooooooo” the temps hum in unison.
“How often will we have breaks?” A scrawny lad, with an Eddie Shoestring tie and scar over his cheek, croaked at the back, “it’s illegal for people to be on the phones longer than three hours without a break.”
He crossed his legs and revealed dirty red socks.
“You’ll need to lyonaise with your Team Manager. Next week you’ll be distributed to different teams. They’ll sort out your breaks.” She said, dodging the Artful Dodger’s question.
I scanned my area: Manic Miner was gone; Joan was off long term sick and there were the desks next to ‘the cupboard that never opens’.
I quickly reached for the gnome with the scary eyes to keep cats off your garden, I put it on Manic Miner’s desk in the hope that its powers worked on Office Urchins.
I have a bad feeling about this…
Last week, a job lot of temps were herded into the Call Centre in preparation for the pre-Christmas rush of orders for novelty items from The Catalogue That Cannot Be Named. They preen and coo like those aliens in Toy Story. Everything fascinates them on their first day, like they have just stepped out of their flying saucer; after that they get bored and start abusing the other staff and customers.
This lot are a real bunch of ragamuffins. Pheobe, the training officer, has been overseeing their induction training like Fagin with a top-knot and Armani glasses: “Once you’ve been induced then you’ll be on the phones speaking to REAL people.”
“Coooooooooooo” the temps hum in unison.
“How often will we have breaks?” A scrawny lad, with an Eddie Shoestring tie and scar over his cheek, croaked at the back, “it’s illegal for people to be on the phones longer than three hours without a break.”
He crossed his legs and revealed dirty red socks.
“You’ll need to lyonaise with your Team Manager. Next week you’ll be distributed to different teams. They’ll sort out your breaks.” She said, dodging the Artful Dodger’s question.
I scanned my area: Manic Miner was gone; Joan was off long term sick and there were the desks next to ‘the cupboard that never opens’.
I quickly reached for the gnome with the scary eyes to keep cats off your garden, I put it on Manic Miner’s desk in the hope that its powers worked on Office Urchins.
I have a bad feeling about this…
22 Nov 2003
The Billie Piper Assignation Squad Vol 2
The secret rulers of the Call Centre continued.
Nigel (Sooty) Thrown into a ‘project limbo’ when Bernard, the head of the Call Centre Operations, realised he had been sold a pup. Originally he was an office manager but didn’t last six months, we had a field day, it was like having a supply teacher in charge, we tested the limits every day. Apparently, Bernard only took him on because his CV said he was an “Area Manager’ for McDonalds. It turned out that he was a manager of an area within McDonalds, the fat fryer I think. Now he turns up to meetings and talks bollocks about statistics that no one understands.
Wendy (Chicken Bum) The Human Resources Consultant. More PC than Juliet Bravo. Spends most of the meeting tutting though her tight lips; she’s got a mouth like a chicken’s arse.
Ron (The Tikki Man) The Ecology Adviser. He can tell camomile from Darjeeling but not nonsense from common-sense. Spends most of the meeting exchanging ethnic shopping tips with Wendy.
Wrapstar (For it is I) I have been co-opted into the Sales Stream for my ‘Development’ (aka Re-Programming). My stomach churns every night prior to the meeting because I know I’ll be put on the spot and will have forgotton something.
Battered and bruised and left for dead whenever a question about Communication Strategies emerge – I will have my revenge…
The secret rulers of the Call Centre continued.
Nigel (Sooty) Thrown into a ‘project limbo’ when Bernard, the head of the Call Centre Operations, realised he had been sold a pup. Originally he was an office manager but didn’t last six months, we had a field day, it was like having a supply teacher in charge, we tested the limits every day. Apparently, Bernard only took him on because his CV said he was an “Area Manager’ for McDonalds. It turned out that he was a manager of an area within McDonalds, the fat fryer I think. Now he turns up to meetings and talks bollocks about statistics that no one understands.
Wendy (Chicken Bum) The Human Resources Consultant. More PC than Juliet Bravo. Spends most of the meeting tutting though her tight lips; she’s got a mouth like a chicken’s arse.
Ron (The Tikki Man) The Ecology Adviser. He can tell camomile from Darjeeling but not nonsense from common-sense. Spends most of the meeting exchanging ethnic shopping tips with Wendy.
Wrapstar (For it is I) I have been co-opted into the Sales Stream for my ‘Development’ (aka Re-Programming). My stomach churns every night prior to the meeting because I know I’ll be put on the spot and will have forgotton something.
Battered and bruised and left for dead whenever a question about Communication Strategies emerge – I will have my revenge…
18 Nov 2003
The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad Vol. 1
The Sales Stream is a self-appointed elite of Team Managers who secretly run the Call Centre. David Icke says they are lizards – I’m not sure.
The members are listed here so you may continue to develop your Wankerdaq portfolio – start selling stock now – Christmas is coming, "season of good-will" and all that, you will put up with anything as long as there is a mince pie and a couple of cheesey balls at the end of it …
Ian (Mutley) The leader of the group; he’s like a badly drawn Robbie Coltrane. He quickly agrees with everything that everyone says, “Yep. Yep. Yep.” but changes the minutes to reflect his opinion.
Mary (Cotton Mouth) The compliance officer. She writes scripts for the Call Centre frontline but takes her inspiration from a rail timetable rather than Harold Pinter. Last week, she was boasting that she once proofread the Magna Carter for a school project. She had sex in a lift with Ian at the 2002 managers’ conference. ** See 27th August **
Brenda (Call Centre Yoda) She still sits too close. She’s still earnest in her desire to ‘improve me’ and she was once the top of my ‘Wankerdaq’ list ** see 28th June **, however the Curryoke Night revealed her to be earnest but harmless. If only she’d stop laughing like Slippy the Sealion. Ian once told Call Centre Tony that he was “up to his nuts in guts” with Brenda at the 2000 conference.
Pheobe (Kermit) The training officer. Dippy but has a way with words. Always on a diet and eats lettuce in an odd way – David Icke might have a point. Was once seen with Ian buying a ‘toad in a hole’ from Ann Summers.
More follows …
The Sales Stream is a self-appointed elite of Team Managers who secretly run the Call Centre. David Icke says they are lizards – I’m not sure.
The members are listed here so you may continue to develop your Wankerdaq portfolio – start selling stock now – Christmas is coming, "season of good-will" and all that, you will put up with anything as long as there is a mince pie and a couple of cheesey balls at the end of it …
Ian (Mutley) The leader of the group; he’s like a badly drawn Robbie Coltrane. He quickly agrees with everything that everyone says, “Yep. Yep. Yep.” but changes the minutes to reflect his opinion.
Mary (Cotton Mouth) The compliance officer. She writes scripts for the Call Centre frontline but takes her inspiration from a rail timetable rather than Harold Pinter. Last week, she was boasting that she once proofread the Magna Carter for a school project. She had sex in a lift with Ian at the 2002 managers’ conference. ** See 27th August **
Brenda (Call Centre Yoda) She still sits too close. She’s still earnest in her desire to ‘improve me’ and she was once the top of my ‘Wankerdaq’ list ** see 28th June **, however the Curryoke Night revealed her to be earnest but harmless. If only she’d stop laughing like Slippy the Sealion. Ian once told Call Centre Tony that he was “up to his nuts in guts” with Brenda at the 2000 conference.
Pheobe (Kermit) The training officer. Dippy but has a way with words. Always on a diet and eats lettuce in an odd way – David Icke might have a point. Was once seen with Ian buying a ‘toad in a hole’ from Ann Summers.
More follows …
16 Nov 2003
Sick
Human Resources are still in the process of rewriting the language. I contacted Wendy on Friday as Simon (the Craig David looky-likey) on my team is now in a state of ‘Recurrent Casual Absence’, which means I have to lock into a HR process designed to squeeze humanity out of illness, death and despair and replace it with forms, documentation and ‘reasonable adjustments’.
“Simon, you were off last week with ‘face ache’. What was wrong exactly?” I asked. Janice was ‘a scribe’ taking notes so the session was fully ‘documented’.
“I think I had RSI of the jaw sir.” Simon replied.
“RSI of the jaw? Repetitive strain injury of the JAW.” I repeated.
“Yes sir. I think it is through talking too much on the phone.”
I started to read the absences from the file. “Pulled ribs caused by over-active sex.”
“I don’t see her no more sir. Too demandin’. She were making me ill init.” He nodded slowly and sincerely.
“Tattoo related sickness.” I continued.
“There was a spelling mistake on my back sir. I had the words transformed into a snake. Do you wanna see it sir?”
“No. No, its ok – we’ll take your word for it.”
When I recounted the meeting to Wendy she spun into overdrive: “I need a work station review. This is covered by the DDA – proceed with caution – can we do anything to relieve the face ache, such as increased breaks, an ergonomic headset or soothing balms. I need you to explore these matters and put it down in a report.”
Can we not just put HIM down?
Human Resources are still in the process of rewriting the language. I contacted Wendy on Friday as Simon (the Craig David looky-likey) on my team is now in a state of ‘Recurrent Casual Absence’, which means I have to lock into a HR process designed to squeeze humanity out of illness, death and despair and replace it with forms, documentation and ‘reasonable adjustments’.
“Simon, you were off last week with ‘face ache’. What was wrong exactly?” I asked. Janice was ‘a scribe’ taking notes so the session was fully ‘documented’.
“I think I had RSI of the jaw sir.” Simon replied.
“RSI of the jaw? Repetitive strain injury of the JAW.” I repeated.
“Yes sir. I think it is through talking too much on the phone.”
I started to read the absences from the file. “Pulled ribs caused by over-active sex.”
“I don’t see her no more sir. Too demandin’. She were making me ill init.” He nodded slowly and sincerely.
“Tattoo related sickness.” I continued.
“There was a spelling mistake on my back sir. I had the words transformed into a snake. Do you wanna see it sir?”
“No. No, its ok – we’ll take your word for it.”
When I recounted the meeting to Wendy she spun into overdrive: “I need a work station review. This is covered by the DDA – proceed with caution – can we do anything to relieve the face ache, such as increased breaks, an ergonomic headset or soothing balms. I need you to explore these matters and put it down in a report.”
Can we not just put HIM down?
13 Nov 2003
Shabba
Call Centre Tony is a Manc. He calls us people from Bolton ‘inbreds’.
It’s not big. It’s not clever. It’s true.
Take Peter Kay for example, Britain’s favourite comic du jour whose sell-out UK tour has just come out on DVD in time for Christmas, everyone in Bolton is related to him – “he’s a cousin of my best friend’s girl friend’s sister’s dance teacher.”
Tizzy couldn’t contain her excitement when she was talking about the DVD. “I watched it frame by frame last night because I was there that night. I was looking for me and Dave in the audience.”
“Are you on it?” I asked.
“I thought I spotted me at the start, when the audience were going, but it was someone a different colour hair and coat – and she wore glasses. I spotted my mum’s hairdresser though.”
When I related the story to Call Centre Tony in his canteen confessional, he just smirked, raised his hand, and said: “Give me six brother.”
Call Centre Tony is a Manc. He calls us people from Bolton ‘inbreds’.
It’s not big. It’s not clever. It’s true.
Take Peter Kay for example, Britain’s favourite comic du jour whose sell-out UK tour has just come out on DVD in time for Christmas, everyone in Bolton is related to him – “he’s a cousin of my best friend’s girl friend’s sister’s dance teacher.”
Tizzy couldn’t contain her excitement when she was talking about the DVD. “I watched it frame by frame last night because I was there that night. I was looking for me and Dave in the audience.”
“Are you on it?” I asked.
“I thought I spotted me at the start, when the audience were going, but it was someone a different colour hair and coat – and she wore glasses. I spotted my mum’s hairdresser though.”
When I related the story to Call Centre Tony in his canteen confessional, he just smirked, raised his hand, and said: “Give me six brother.”
11 Nov 2003
9 Nov 2003
Poaching
The focus day gave us a chance to raid Bernard’s cupboards. He buys a load of stuff from the cash and carry with the intention of using it for sales incentives. He loves to hoard it. Any opportunity we have to get into his stocks is a time to be relished.
Janice, dressed as a Wicked Witch, was rooting at the back of the cupboard. “Azad on my team has won a bottle of wine but, he’s a Muslim and doesn’t drink. I’m trying to find an alternative.”
She gave him an out-of-date ‘Buttons’ Easter egg instead.
Janice has not yet grasped the finer detail of cultural diversity.
The focus day gave us a chance to raid Bernard’s cupboards. He buys a load of stuff from the cash and carry with the intention of using it for sales incentives. He loves to hoard it. Any opportunity we have to get into his stocks is a time to be relished.
Janice, dressed as a Wicked Witch, was rooting at the back of the cupboard. “Azad on my team has won a bottle of wine but, he’s a Muslim and doesn’t drink. I’m trying to find an alternative.”
She gave him an out-of-date ‘Buttons’ Easter egg instead.
Janice has not yet grasped the finer detail of cultural diversity.
7 Nov 2003
Carry on Screaming
The IVR has been switched on and the melon ball free gift has ended so, yesterday there was an equivalent of tumbleweed blowing through the office, compared to the bedlam we have experienced for the past three weeks.
We decided to have a Halloween focus event. It was a week late but Bernard had bought a load of treacle toffee and he wanted use it for an incentive for the staff. He said: “Do you think the fishmongers at Seattle stop having fun when THEY are busy? Errrrrmmm!”
The staff were a little bemused by the whole thing. Tizzy had rescued a jack-o-lantern from the kitchen bin at home. It was shrivelled and there were baked bean stains on the outside.
Call Centre Tony was wearing a Las Vagas Elvis suit. He wears it for every focus day, from seventies day to Pop Idol Day. He had his face painted white: “I’m dead Elvis – are you having that son?”
The IVR has been switched on and the melon ball free gift has ended so, yesterday there was an equivalent of tumbleweed blowing through the office, compared to the bedlam we have experienced for the past three weeks.
We decided to have a Halloween focus event. It was a week late but Bernard had bought a load of treacle toffee and he wanted use it for an incentive for the staff. He said: “Do you think the fishmongers at Seattle stop having fun when THEY are busy? Errrrrmmm!”
The staff were a little bemused by the whole thing. Tizzy had rescued a jack-o-lantern from the kitchen bin at home. It was shrivelled and there were baked bean stains on the outside.
Call Centre Tony was wearing a Las Vagas Elvis suit. He wears it for every focus day, from seventies day to Pop Idol Day. He had his face painted white: “I’m dead Elvis – are you having that son?”
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