Well hello there...

Welcome to my blog. Brb... I'm making memories (read as: Wine. I'm going to get some wine...)

They're watching us...

Whaaaat the helllllll…. So my Cell phone rings “Private number”. So being the clever little Call Centre Manager that I am, there is more chance of me voluntarily poking a hot coal right up my bum than answering that phone right now! Private number = call centre!

Now let me just point out, I - THANK FECK! am not working in a call centre that does any form of cold calling. Oh no no no, there will be no “Hi ma’am how are you today? (said very fast and in that “I just got laid” smiley face type voice) I was just wondering if you would be interested in purchasing a new pancreas from us. They come fresh from India and have hardly been used as we harvest them from small children who once worked in the Nike factory but who’s fingers are now too cramped to sew anymore and therefore have no more use for them so we harvested their pancreaseseses for re-sale. *deep breathe* We have cheap cheap payment plans available….” Blah blah…

You get my drift? Luckily, in my call centres, we are the people that GET called, when your head is on fire… well not really. Please don’t call me if your head was on fire. We support software technical issues… (Please wake up now, you have to read the rest of my rant).

So anyhoo where was I? Yes yes I ignore the private number. Smug little smile on my face, oh no you evil telemarketer, not today you won’t… not today. My direct BUSINESS telephone rings, so of course this I answer… still smiling smugly. “Hi my name is Mpumi and I am calling you from Cell-C” (also said very fast)


Now as I AM aforementioned call centre manager, I do have a very very small sympathy gland somewhere in my body for cold calling call centre agents (it is situated close to my bum hole – sorry is that too crude... I can never tell) So in a firm but friendly-ishhhhhhh voice I stop the chit chat! “Mpumi where the hell have you gotten both my cell number and my direct work number from” “Oh from the National consumer database…” Oh fuckydoo no you didn’t. See now… I always make sure that I do not fill this crap in. Or if I really HAVE to (gun to my head) I always ensure there is some sort of tick box where you make sure you tick “do NOT use my details for marketing purposes”.

Which makes me wonder then, where the hell they get the info from! Are you people following me around with a satellite or something! I watched Eagle eye you know! I have techie smarts *taps forehead*… That or I have had a gps inserted that somehow leaches information out… a listening device of sorts!

So who I ask could be close enough to you to insert this kind of device…? Well…. It could be my gynae… he does look like a bit of a dodgy old todger… *frown*

Ladies… beware… you do not know whats potting down there when you go see a gynae, it’s all an evil conglomerate (not quite sure what that word means but have always wanted to use it) Gynae’s / MTN / Cell-C / The Prostate Doctor (incase you thought YOU were safe guys).

I am telling you, we’re all transmitting something right now! *slams legs closed*

Some poor agent is sitting in a house in Brixton with those big earphones on with a direct line to Mutual & Federal or some such malarkey, just waiting for you to give out your personal info…

Call Centre Manager: “Jimbob have you gotten Mrs Flufferbutts direct telephone number yet!?”

Jimbob: “Not yet boss… she keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs, so I’m only getting the numbers down in spurts! But I have sent Agent X over to her house to pretend to be the hunky repairman, so here’s hoping I should get all the info out of her soon…”

See now… that was just unnecessary wasn’t it!

It’s been a long day ok :)

Pet Peeve of this week: Gynaes… you guys just get a baddddd rap!


Satans Playground...