Meanwhile in Maidstone, I sit here writing this, pulling nails off my fingers; with the lingering taste of an unsatisfactory muffin in my mouth. Muffins are overrated, like chocolate-cake. And wot? Much prefer a chocolate-digestive, the undisputed king of the UK biscuit-game. Complete with a cup of tea, I feel like a military general with his loyal attack dog by his side, casually bowling onto the battlefield; drinking a cup of tea, just to muddle the metaphor even further. Someone get me a chocy-digestive, lively! He says.
So what’s going on? Another week done. Time is moving fast, mate, this year is almost 6 months old. Enough with the sentimentality, Paul, get on with it, son. Ok, Dad.
Alright. So this week’s offering is hope. Sort of. It’s another piece from Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best. Yep. So how’s that connect to hope? Well, a few weeks ago, writing the introduction to that days post, I mentioned how I’ve been struggling with this particular section of the show that I’m about to share. I then said last week that I’d started re-writing it, but was probably going to cut it; which was the case, until Tuesday, this week, sat on the Maidstone to Victoria train. I was out of ideas and just writing through to the end, in the hope that something would present itself.
For some reason, I got the urge to re-start it again, slightly differently and this time it just flowed out in that way that rarely happens, ie I fleshed it out fairly quickly and in a way that just feels, well right, like when I get up in the morning and let the dogs into the garden. They just burst out the door. It’s still scrappy, far from finished but it’s a satisfying feeing and has altered my thinking on the whole thing. I’d share what I originally wrote, so you could see where I’m coming form but then, like school, that would probably be a bit well boring.
A little word on the form. So this whole section of the show (none of which I’ve shared on here as yet) is written in this sort-of, list-poetry-style. I felt it lends itself nicely to the present-tense yet allows me to fill in any background information gaps, whilst moving the story a bit quicker. And I enjoy saying it this way. That’s the thinking anyway.
So that’s your lot for now. Got an idea for a little article I want to write, regarding Peep Show. That may appear on here in the next few weeks, but then again I had this idea to write something about rap lyrics and working with kids. Started writing it and it was terrible. Not that confident with the ‘thought sharing’ part of Lager-Time as yet. But you know, who dares wins and all that.
If you like, hit that subscribe. Had one new subscriber join the ranks last week, thankyou, whoever you are. Please don’t be a bot. Tortoise and the hare, mate.
Have a banging weekend. Same next time next week?
CALL CENTRE COLLECTOR
Nothing like a slice of home cooked humble pie
Stayed at mum and dads for a week
A week not at work
meaning a week with no pay
But I had mum and dad to look after me
I was lucky
I swear it was meant to be the other way around once I moved out
Wiped out with exhaustion
That’s what the nurse said
And a ticking off about recreational drug use
Told me to stick to paracetamol and aspirin
Don’t worry, I said I won’t be doing that again
I’ll just stick to booze
that feeling of fatigue has been lingering for a few months now
Got back to Brighton
Got my nut down
Moved house again
Number 4
changed jobs again
Number 4
Me and Mohammed got taken on permanently by the bank
We’re junior collectors now
Makes us sound like charity workers
If only
Were Call centre drones , mercenaries
Collecting debt on loans and overdrafts
Shifts are long
But I’m on a salary
£13.5k a year
Holiday pay
Sick pay
And wacky team building days out
the longer hours meant I had to stop the cleaning job
But now earning slightly more
And in a house share again
My bills are slightly less
I’m living with Mick and Mit
Socially it’s good
Mates come and visit
We’re making music
I’m writing more lyrics than ever
Even stories and poems, the ideas never stopped coming
I’m reading more
Getting my eating under control
I’ve started running in the evenings too
But this job is pretty gruelling
Wake up trudge out to work
Like there’s stage weights strapped to my back
Plug in my headset
Wait for the beep
Customer details snap on screen
Hello you through to Pcan I take your account details please
Another debt laden customer
Sometimes I wonder how they got in this situation
Target driven bank-selling
Pressurized Christmas spending
Adverts telling you you’re worth it
Without the apr
Sky tv subscriptions
Holidays and cigarettes
And liberal card spending
That’s how they got me
I can normally tell me within the first few words how it’s gonna go
Sometimes they’re nice
Sometimes they’re friendly
Sometimes they’re relived
Sometimes they’re desperate
Sometimes they’re angry
Sometimes they threaten me
Keep tally everytime I get called a c u n t
I’m in double figures
Someitmes they’re abusive
Sometimes racist
Mohammed gets it a lot
They hear his accent and assume his calling from India
and the amount of times I’ve been asked if I’m black
what does that even mean
and why is that relevant to the call?
Supposedly all we have to do is follow the flow chart
The great flow chart
Every call should go the same way
Either they make a payment or make an arrangement
All done in 7 minutes
So our team leaders say
bosh
That’s it
As if it’s all that simple
Bag one then BEEP onto the next one
when I take too long on a call
like the man that was suicidal
or the lady who was in floods of tears after
Getting threatening court letters when she doesn’t even bank with Lloyds
the supervisors who monitor the calls
Come round and passively aggressively tell me I’m taking too
Long on my calls,
then point to the flow chart on the walls
Then the league tables
Next to the empty motivational messages
Showing my teams stats
Whose collected the most dough
Made the most arrangements
And where I’m sat
Often on the bottom
Letting the team down
They tell me I’m not assertive enough
Punch out the code for the toilet
The carzy on my floor has been busted for ages
Have to go up two flights of stairs
Only two traps up there
and 4 floors of geezers
So If I need to bless-it
And they’re engaged
I have to wait
And when I come back
Supervisor of the year is at my desk
Asking why I took so long
When I can, I go to lunch with Mohammed
Though Our shifts often don’t align
I miss working side by side
He’s so calm
He’s not phased by this job
He tells me to not take it all to heart,
there’s more to life he says
I feel guilty when I moan
He’s got his wife and his baby
I can barely take care of me
I go home each night wiped out
But I try and force myself to do something
either that or it’s watch MTV Pimp My Ride
Mohamed’s right, there is more to life
Waited my whole life to get cable TV
what a disappointment it is
spend my time on it channel hopping
so much choice
yet so little worth watching
As much as it hurts my brain after those long days
I try to read a book or write a verse or practise
Some bars that I’ve already written
I feel I owe it to my skull
It’s the only way I know to
Fight that dull feeling that’s like
Someone slowly pulling a tired grey
Tarpaulin over the skies
Been in Brighton for 18 months
4 addresses
4 jobs
times moving on
so should I
