Saturday, February 12, 2005
The Phone Monkey Knows No Fear

There's those few seconds of unsettling silence between me and the customer after I relay the bad news. It could be that they can't install on both a Mac or a PC at the same time, or maybe they have to pay for technical support, or it could be that their version is only supported online. Whatever it is, there's that small amount of time, which technically is just a drop in the bucket of the time-space continium, but seems to last much, much longer than it actually is.

"I'm sorry, but the license only allows you to install on one platform, even if we allow two machines per copy..."

"Unfortunately, the support for your version is only found online"

"Aside from our online forums, you can choose to log a paid incident for phone support"

Then the silence ensues. As I've said, it ranges from 3-5 seconds, which is really not a long time at all. But it feels like forever considering the white-knuckled anticipation of what the caller will say next. In fact, I feel like one of those war correspondents on the battelfield waiting for the maelstrom that will follow after hearing the sound of the mortar firing. The next few seconds could mean greivious harm, or a narrow brush with death.


"You have got to be kidding me."

"No way, this is bullshit."

"Oh, okay."

Predictably, the last response is the one I always hope for. I secretly exhale a sigh of relief when they actually accept what I have to tell them. Of course there will be times when the customer will give you a piece of his/her mind in a not-so-eloquent fashion. Ah, such is the life of a phone monkey. Not that I'm really complaining now, my last call center gig was ten times worse, given that 90% of calls you get involve a seething, computer illiterate homeowner. Add that to the lousy management, which made me quit 3 months into the job. So you see, it's just a little something I observed from my current work.


On to other things, my sister nearly lost her life recently due to food posioning. Not spoiled food mind you, but chemical posioning. They were making homemade corned beef and the excessive amount of sodium nitrate was the culprit. The recipe called for about half a teaspoon of the stuff to go with a pound of the beef. Apparently, it was the maid that erroneously added something like FOUR fucking tablespoons of the additive. Propotionally that would make it an overdose amounting to 400%. That caused my sister to collapse in front of her kids after ingesting the tainted meat. Had they gone to Makati Medical Center, she wouldn't have made it since she was in Alabang at the time. It was a good thing they sought treatment at a nearby hospital instead. Otherwise, I'd be on funeral leave right now. Her face was stiff and her hands slowly turned black for christ's sake.

So kids, remember to check the amount of death sodium nitrate that you put into your homemade corned beef, because that may be the last thing you'll eat in this god-forsaken earth.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
People=Shit (Slipknot)
Here we go again, motherfucker
Come on down, and see the idiot right here
Too fucked to beg and not afraid to care
What's the matter with calamity anyway?
Right? Get the fuck outta my face
Understand that I can't feel anything
It isn't like I wanna sift through the decay
I feel like a would, like I got a fuckin' Gun against my head,
you live when I'm dead
One more time, mother fucker
Everybody hates me now, so fuck it
Blood's on my face and my hands, and I
Don't know why, I'm not afraid to cry
But that's none of your business
Whose life is it? Get it? See it? Feel it? Eat it?
Spin it around so i can spit in its face
I wanna leave without a trace
Cuz I don't wanna die in this place
People = Shit
People = Shit (Whatcha gonna do?)
People = Shit (Cuz I am not afraid of you)
People = Shit (I'm everything you'll never be)
People = Shit
It never stops - you can't be everything to everyone
Contagion - I'm sittin' at the side of Satan
What do you want from me?
They never told me the failure I was meant to be
Overdo it - don't tell me you blew it
Stop your bitchin' and fight your way through it
C'mon mother fucker, everybody has to die
People = Shit People = Shit (Whatcha gonna do?)
People = Shit (Cuz I am not afraid of you)
People = Shit (I'm everything you'll never be)
People = Shit
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Bummed Out

Sadly my hopes for being a daywalker crashed and burned in a blaze of glory for the fourth time. Like a WWII fighter plane shot down by an ICBM. Just came up from the 31st floor to have a smoke. Shit, shit, shit. My breath tastes of nicotine and iced tea, and my morale is sinking like a camel in quicksand. The more I try to shake myself out of it, the deeper I get. What else to do but stay still and hope for someone to pull me out? Yes indeed, yes in-fucking-deed.

A co-worker came up to me to propose a networking scheme he has going on. Incidentally, I tried to pitch a same gimmick to him a few months back because my mom gently forced me to join her new money-making venture. Currently, that hasn't panned out for me too much. Going back to said co-worker's proposal, it seems legal enough: it's a well-established business entity in the book/magazine/comic trade that's planning to try its hand at this crazy game called networking. It's certainly cheaper to sign up for this one, as opposed to the afformentioned scheme I got myself into some time ago. Same deal: you get a referral fee for those that sign up under your own name, or known as a downline to those familiar with the game. Same promises of untold riches too: about 200 grand a month if you're really, really good at it. "Good" being the sales talking kind of guy, which I'm not. That's probably why I'm not going to be up to it. That's just not me. And besides, I need to focus my attention on our tutorial business.

There's a lot of money out there; the trick is how to get your share of it. Sigh, they're just sheets pf paper that if you had piles of, would create an illusion of happiness. But I would like to have just enough of it to live a bit comfortably. Is that all there is to life? Join the rat race to secure a financial oasis in this poverty-sticken desert of unemployment and rising rates of inflation? That's how a man's worth is measured by, right? The so-called diskarte. The true yardstick of one's manhood.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Be a man, Marko. Suck it up. Stop whining. Get down and give me infinity. Hop to it, soldier.

Okay, I'll stop now.