Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Sunday, June 13, 2010
So I have a new boss at my part time telemarketing job. I have several bosses. One for my performance, one for scheduling, one for my data collection tracking...yeah, the title manager is used liberally.
He's, um, well. He's a part time middle manager at a telemarketing company. You can do the math.
He's worked at the company 11 months. He started just like me, on the phones. And now look at him! Three promotions later and he's a manager! Two more promotions and he'll be eligible for full time hours. Yessirreee, there's big potential here!
We don't know each other. I've only encountered him once, during one of my four hour shifts. Today I went in and was told he was promoted to the Shift Scheduling Manager, Telesales and I was to report to him at the end of my shift.
Oooooooo! A meeting with the Shift Scheduling Manager, Telesales! Maybe I'm already getting my first promotion!
So, I went into his cube (now that he's a Shift Scheduling Manager, Telesales he gets to share a cube with the Shift Scheduling Manager, Teledata), I was all pepped up about what great news might be coming my way.
We had a little general chat about marketing. He told be that before this job he was a systems analyst and that he didn't know much about marketing. Now he's Mr. Madison Avenue. So, we were talking about one of our clients and how the calls during the past few days were not garnering many sales. He pondered if we needed new scripts (sales scripts are written and given to us from above, way, way, way above). Then I made a big mistake. I used the term empirical data. I asked if there was empirical data from the client's previous telemarketing or even from other media strategies.
My boss got mad at me.
"You can't think. You're not supposed to think. You'll sway the consumers if you think. This is why I don't like to hire marketing professionals. You know too much about marketing to talk to consumers, you think too much into it, you think about the data, you get a tone that effects the customers. You're loose cannons. Lemme tell you something, if you want to get anywhere here you have to stop thinking, turn off your brain, you can't go all rogue marketing pro."
Whoa.
Whoa.
Seriously.
Whoa.
I'm a swutting telemarketer. How is it even possible to go rogue?
And affecting a 'tone?' People tell me to fuck off, yell at me, tell me to get a real job, try to engage me in phone sex, and hang up on me and my new boss is worried that I'll affect a 'tone' of insider rogue marketing pro that will sway the consumers' attitude about the products and skew the data? Seriously? I mean really? Seriously?
I have no doubt I affect a 'tone' now and then but it has nothing to do with maniacal marketing voodoo. (awesome band name) My 'tone' affects something more along the lines of misery, contempt, existentialism and treachery, think Squidward, more like, "I hate this job and my life and the second I can afford a life insurance policy I'm killing myself."
So I laughed at him.
I laughed. I know. I shouldn't have laughed. But I couldn't help it. It was too funny to not laugh.
He didn't like that I laughed.
And he said, "It's not funny. When you start using terms like 'empirical data' (he used air quotes) it's a sign you know too much."
Apparently he looks for "signs" in his employees. "Signs" that we know too much about marketing. At our telemarketing jobs.
And then he told me he was cutting my hours.
I logged 22 hours in a two week span. Because the previous Shift Scheduling Manager, Telesales, scheduled me to work those hours.
Apparently there was a suspicious trend - I logged more hours than some of the other new hires. 22 hours in two weeks.
And now it's been revealed that I know too much. I'm a rogue marketing professional. The empirical data is all right there on my resume - too many years of professional experience, I know too much, I can't be trusted. I could affect a 'tone.'
So my already measly hours are being cut back. I kid you not.
The empirical data proves that I will be in foreclosure and on my way to homelessness in 6 weeks.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Well, that was fun. Four hours of abuse. Niiiice. And worse, there weren't as many lonely old people eager to engage in conversation with anyone, even a telemarketer. One of my more seasoned coworkers (he's considered a long term employee, 8 months on the job) told me Sundays are when the senior citizens really want to gab. Apparently Sundays are long, lonely days for senior citizens.
Today I had a lot of hang ups. That's okay. I prefer hangups to profanity and threats.
The fuck yous and fuck offs not only take a toll on my self respect, they also have an impact on my job performance. We're supposed to try to "turn the anger around" and try to engage the customer in meaningful dialog about the product or service we are marketing.
Further, if I disconnect a call it's noted and counts against me, like a demerit. Meaning, a customer can say anything to us and it's "better" for us telemarketers if we sit there and take it until they hang up.
Which means we take a lot of abuse to keep our low paying crappy job.
Today I had a guy try to engage me in phone sex. "Hello, Mr. Jackoff?"
"Yes?"
"Our records indicate you bought a Widget 9000. Are you happy with your Widget 9000?"
"Yes. You sound sexy."
"Great! Mr. Jackoff, were you aware there is an add-on device available for the Widget 9000?"
"No. Tell me about it, baby."
"Great! The Hoozit 2200 works with your Widget 9000. You may have noticed the adapter ring on your Widget 9000. The Hoozit 2200 easily and quickly attaches to your Widget 9000 via that adapter ring."
"Ooooo, sexy, yeah, baby, tell me more, you sound really hot."
"The Hoozit 2200 is reasonably priced and will enhance the performance of your Widget 9000. You'll see increased capacity and more efficient run times, saving you hundreds of dollars over the course of a year of regular use of your Widget 9000."
"I want to lick your pussy and give you a rim job."
"Great! Would you like to take advantage of our special offer today? You can purchase the Hoozit 2200 for $29.98. That's a 43% savings off the retail price."
"What'll it cost me to fuck you in the ass?"
"If you choose to take advantage of this great offer I can include an AC adapter at no extra charge. Does this sound like something you'd be interested in today, Mr. Jackoff?"
"Oh God yes, baby, give it to me."
"Great! I'll just need some information from you. Do you have a credit card handy?"
"Fuck you, bitch, fuck you and your hot wet cunt, you know you fucking want me."
"You can also order online. I'll need your email address and will send you the discount code."
"Mr. Jackoff? We require a credit card number or email address to complete this Hoozit 2200 offer. Mr. Jackoff? Hello?"
Yep. That's what I do. That's my job. Why didn't I hang up on him? Because it counts against me to hang up on him and sooner or later he'll hang up on me, so, it's in my best job interest to endure the abuse, the weirdness, the threats, the sex...it's all about them. And the longer we engage the customer, the longer the call time, the higher mark we get. So at the end of the month when our numbers are tallied the longer we keep customers on the line, the better our review. The better the review, the sooner you can move up and into telesurveying.
So. That's why I endure the profanity, the sad lonely old people, the phone sex guy. (And, I have his phone number, anyone think I should call him? I mean, hey, he thinks I sound hot.)
And you wonder why I am losing self respect? Why I'm willing, hoping, to lose self control? Why I'm trying to drink more and eat less? Why I don't care about myself, my health or my life? Look at what I'm doing for $8/hour. Phone sex operators earn more than that - and based on that caller today I'm thinking maybe I should consider it. At least there the callers call me wanting something and when they tell me to fuck off they mean it literally and not as an insult.
Wait.
I'm taking home $19.15 for five hours of abuse and Bristol Palin's getting $15K - $30K for one speech?
"...she's interested in expanding her message beyond teen pregnancy to include her experiences on the campaign trail and in the media spotlight; her parenting approach; and her outlook on life."
And she has an outlook on life worth paying $15K - $30K to hear? Can't she just Tweet her outlook on life like every other 19-year-old?
Public service is one thing, from a marketing standpoint Bristol would be PSA gold, if she truly volunteered, gratis, her voice and image. I'd actually back that plan.
But. Turning a profit, a huge profit, from her mom's "fame" and her teen pregnancy? Huh? What point am I missing in this?
Millions of educated, professionally experienced, intelligent, creative, insightful people are jobless and struggling to exist on $8 - $10/hour jobs (if they're lucky enough to land a job at all) and Bristol Palin is getting $15K - $30K/speech?
Monday, May 17, 2010
Well, here we go! I think I was onto something with the self control thing. My first day of telemarketing was brutal. The verbal abuse I endured was beyond what I expected (and I expected it to be pretty bad). We're told in training to not take it personally. And I don't.
But the thing is, I hate what I'm doing. I lost respect for myself the second I agreed to take the job. There's no way to dignify or rationalize or excuse what I'm doing. In terms of professional integrity I might as well be working on a stripper pole. I can't ever put this job on my resume and if anyone in my professional circle found out I'm doing it I'd not only be ridiculed and dismissed as a washed up has been, I'd be seen as a traitor lacking professional ethics. A few former colleagues might feel sorry for me and try to intervene, but what can they do? They're unemployed or working under the threat of it, too. They don't have any practical solutions, either. The most they can do is offer pity and hope that it never happens to them. "Did you hear about Trillian? *telemarketing*"
"Oh my God, not Trillian! Really?!"
"Yep. I heard it's true."
"Wow. Such a shame. I liked her. I never thought she'd have to sink that low."
"Just goes to show, it can happen to anyone. I had a roommate in college who did it, nice girl from a poor family, worked her way through college doing it. She got off the phone and into a real job, but still, she never really lived it down. You can't erase the experience. It's too degrading."
One day on the job and I'm already hating myself for it.
Self respect: Going...going...going...
Self control: Waning...waning...waning...
It's already easier to persuade myself to drink more than I should. I started drinking at 4 this afternoon. Two bottles of wine later I'm still not numb enough to forget that I have to go back to work tomorrow.
Which is weird because I haven't eaten much so you'd think I'd be more drunk.
Yep, control over food is slipping, just like old times. Amazing how all the years of discipline and emotional exercise over food is just vanishing. Kinda scary. I thought I conquered it but nope, it's just so much easier to not eat. I had some Cheez Its yesterday and a tomato and some carrots today. And those two bottles of wine. I don't want to eat and with my self respect waning it's difficult to convince myself that my health is worth the effort. Why? Why care about what happens to me when the only job I can get is one where people hate me and swear at me and yell at me and threaten to kick my ass?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
I just worked my first shift as a paid telemarketer! Woo hoo!
Five hours of abuse! With a 20 minute break! After taxes I earned $25.15!!!
I can't believe they're paying me for so much fun!
I'm trying calculate how many times in my life I've been told to fuck off and how many times someone's said "fuck you" to me. I'm trying to recall and tally the times I've been told to get a life/real job. I'm starting to realize that I've either led a very sheltered life or I've been insulted by a higher caliber of people, or at least people with broader, more concise vocabularies than the people attached to the phone numbers on my call list.
I honestly don't recall being told to fuck off too many times. Maybe 15, 20? Mainly by drunk guys at bars and concerts. I'm not offended, really. We're told in training to not take any insults or threats personally. So I don't. But. Still. You have to have thick skin to do this job.
In training we were told a lot of people never return after their first day of live phone work. I understand why. I knew there'd be some abuse, I mean, telemarketers are universally hated. And with good reason.
But. I didn't realize how much seething venom we invoke. One woman told me if she could spit through the phone she'd hock an infected phlegmy loogie at me. I haven't heard the term hock a loogie in a really long time, so, you know, thanks for that trip down memory lane. That's how I make it bearable. I disassociate myself from the job and the people I'm calling. Take the things they say to me as interesting responses, not as personal attacks.
When it's clear the call is going nowhere I let my imagination run with it. I try to envision the person behind the insults. Visualize them, their surroundings, their backstory. But. I don't make excuses for them. There is no excuse for the profanity and threats. (Oh yes, threats - one guy threatened to kick my ass then shove his boot up my throat so I could never call anyone again, another guy said he'd burn down our office building and everyone in it if anyone called him again. I'm pretty sure these people have no way of finding out where we're based, our trainers and supervisors say we're safe and secure, but, I am slightly concerned about it.) I mean, just hang up. Just hang up the phone. Well, first, put your phone number on the Do Not Call list. Then just hang up. The profanity, the insults, the threats...they're not necessary. No one I've met at my company wants to be a telemarketer. We're all desperate. And for the most part, we're all decent, normal human beings who, in real life, would never inspire profanity, insults or threats. And, as far as getting a life/job? Yeah. Most of us had lives and jobs until we were laid off and couldn't find new jobs and then our lives started to suck and we got desperate. We're doing this because we can't find other jobs. But make no mistake, this is a real job. It's the hardest $25.15 I've ever earned.
Why? Because of the effect on my self respect. There's no way to calculate that cost until more results are in regarding the effect this has on me and the rest of my life. But the mere fact that I'm telemarketing at all has already sapped a lot of self respect. I don't take it personally, but, I'm guessing there's a price to pay for repeatedly being told to fuck off. And the cost is most likely a lot more than $25.15.
Oh, and, minus the $6 commute, so, actually, I'm at a net profit of $19.15.
All I ask is that you think about this the next time a telemarketer calls you. Just hang up. Don't curse them out, insult them or threaten them. Don't rub salt in the gaping wound hole where their self respect used to be.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Excessive compulsive disorder.
Yes, I meant excessive. It's my new disease. You know, the loss of self respect leading to loss of self control thing.
I'm trying to navigate the subtleties between self control and self indulgence. It's trickier than I suspected.
Did you know that exercising self-control reduces glucose levels in the brain? I find this fascinating on a lot of levels. The whole physio-emotion-brain-functionality correlation fascinates me anyway, and this new information is adding new dimensions to my little philosophy hobby.
Van Gogh keeps coming to mind. What if a couple doses of insulin were "all" he needed to stabilize his issues? A little extra self control could have prevented the fatal gunshot. What more art might he have given us had he not died so young? But. then again, would a more emotionally stable Van Gogh see the world in the Van Gogh eyes we admire and gasp and sigh over? The talent would no doubt be there, but maybe the vision, the genius, would be lost in the glucose stability.
I'm no Van Gogh. I'm not comparing myself to Van Gogh. No way. I'm just saying, you know, lack of self control isn't necessarily a bad thing.
There's the excessive issue, though. What's the difference between a lack of self control and just regular excessive indulgence? Well, the glucose issue, for one thing. But apart from that sorting out the nuances isn't easy.
Since I've lost self respect it should be easy to lose self control, right? I mean, I thought it would be super easy. It's not, though. So either I have more self respect that I think I have, or, self control is actually a very powerful force.
So I tried to make a list of all the ways I exercise self control. That's not as easy as I thought, either.
Here's my attempt.
I don't drink to excess. But not due to self control. Well, not really. More due to the fact that I tend to fall asleep before I get falling down, slurred speech drunk. And booze is expensive. I don't have the money required to drink to excess. And the desire isn't really strong, either. Sure, occasionally I like to have a couple drinks, enough to numb the emotional pain and reduce the inhibitions, but I don't really like to drink often, like every day. It's interesting, when I was laid off I didn't start drinking at noon and get a good drunk on by 3 PM. I could. There's nothing and no one stopping me. But I'm not tempted. I think merely because I can do it, I don't. There's no real self control there, no fighting temptation or choosing the right choice. I'm simply not interested. Note to self: Try getting rip roaring drunk by 3 PM on a Tuesday just to see if you can.
I don't sleep around. But not because of self control. I'd sleep around if I could find willing partners. Then again, is that really true? Have I truly tried everything possible to get laid? There are blind men and old men and men with STDs who have difficulty finding willing partners, I could make more of an effort to find these men. I could scour the "intimate encounters" section of Craig's List and probably find someone willing to have sex with me. I haven't tried that (yet), but more out of fear than self respect or self control. I don't mind dying, but I don't want to die in some embarrassing scenario that would upset and humiliate my mother. Just because I've lost all self respect doesn't mean I have a right to disrespect my mother and her feelings. Crap. That's self control, isn't it? You can't be considerate and lose self control at the same time. Dammit. See what I mean? This is actually kind of difficult. I wonder how you deplete the glucose in your brain? That would help me lose self control.
I don't spend money. Mainly because I don't have any. That's not self control. Then again, I'm not robbing banks or stealing things or conning people. If I really wanted stuff I wouldn't let a little thing like a lack of money stand in my way, right? But I don't want to take anyone down with me, I don't want to hurt anyone but myself. I don't want to break laws. Crap, that's self control, isn't it? See? This is really difficult. Speaking of wasting money, can someone clue me in on the whole enormous chronograph watch thing? My theory: They're the new expensive red sports car. Direct correlation between the size, functionality and cost of the watch and the size and functionality of the penis. The bigger and more superfluous dials a watch has, the smaller the penis of the man wearing it. That's just my theory. And hey! I let go of some self control and espoused my theory on penises which has zero research to back it. (See above, not getting laid.)
Drugs. Yeah. Not interested. No self control required. I'd do Dexedrine if I could afford it and could acquire it without getting it from a back alley dealer or a questionable doctor. But there again, if I really wanted it I'd get it, I'd do it. I would have been doing it for a long time. I know the benefits of Dexedrine and the risks. I'm not pharmacologically opposed to it. But I dunno, if I truly wanted to do it I would already be doing it.
And why Dexedrine?
Food.
Ahhhhh. Yeah. The mother load of my self control. My name is Trillian and I'm an anorexic.
This is what scares me about self control. I spent a lot of years with hyper self control over food. I didn't eat. I exercised excessive self control. Which is, perversely, a lack of self control. Deprivation is a weird, involved and thorny issue. Lots of psychology behind it. It's not as trite and simple as television psychologists make it out to be. For me, self control is eating. It's easier for me to not eat than it is for me to eat. A lot of anorexics have control issues. They feel they have no control over anything in their lives and food is the one thing they can control. Not eating empowers them. Control wasn't my food issue. Self esteem was. I got a lot of negative attention because of my boobs. Every ogle at my chest made me feel objectified. (Oh, how times have changed, what I wouldn't give to be objectified these days...see above, Craig's List) I wanted my boobs to go away, or at least be smaller. I wanted people, men, to see me as something more than boobs. I wanted people, men, to respect me and not desire me for my boobs but for my personality, my brain, anything other than my body. (In my ideal world, I still feel that way. But I don't live in an ideal world. Growing up, having life beat the idealism out of you, kind of sucks.) I tried to lose as much weight as possible to shrink them, became anorexic and that was that. Fortunately I had a bad health scare, had a doctor who understood and cared and helped me. I made peace with all of that, and my body, and started forcing myself to eat. It took a lot of self control to eat. A lot. But I did it, I do it. I have an almost healthy, normal relationship with food these days.
So. Yeah. This is clearly where I need to begin my journey into a lack of self control. Just stop eating. It's that easy. It is easy for me. And without self respect it's even easier. Thank you, telemarketing job, for robbing me of the remaining shred of self respect I had! Now I can go back to not eating and from there, who knows?! Maybe I'll start drinking at noon, stealing stuff, taking Dexedrine and trolling Craig's List for sexual encounters! Losing self control could be a lot of fun!
Ahhhhh. But is that just being self indulgent? The disturbing truth is that I liked being anorexic. I knew exactly what I was doing. I did it with intention. Not to hurt myself, not to get attention or to rebel against my parents. Nope. I did it to deflect attention away from my body so that people would see me as something other than boobs. I did it so that people would get to know me, my brain, me, the person my parents raised and educated me to be. I'm not saying I was anorexic for them, but, certainly a nice by-product of my anorexia was that my parents hard work in raising me wasn't completely lost behind my boobs. And I'm pretty sure my dad slept better when my boobs were smaller and old men weren't ogling his co-ed daughter's chest.
But I dunno. There's a strong element of self indulgence to anorexia. I'm still trying to figure out the difference between self indulgence and self control. I know there's a difference. And I want to be sure I remain on the self control side. I've merely lost self respect and I want the loss of self control that goes with it. I don't want or need to indulge myself. I just want to live in accordance to the seething hatred I have for my life and what I've done to it.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
You know how self respect = self control? I'm going to start my own research study on that.
Because obviously I'm losing self respect. I'm a fully trained telemarketer, now. It's not humanly possible to be a telemarketer and not lose self respect. At least it's not humanly possible for me. A couple people in my telemarketing training remarked that I have too much class to be "doing this." I don't know about class, but I do know that desperate people do desperate things and dignity does go straight out the window in desperate situations. You can only strive to preserve some integrity and hope the desperate situation improves quickly enough to salvage some self respect.
I likened telemarketing to the porn industry because the parallels are alarming. I'm not intimate with the porn industry. I'm basing my knowledge of the porn industry on conjecture, personal opinion and a couple 20/20 and Jerry Springer shows.
You hear women, porn actresses, say that to get through their sex scenes they a) get high and/or b) emotionally shut-down, "go blank" to the point they disassociate their brains, their souls, from their bodies. They prefer to be "unaware" during the taping. I know, I know, there are other women who say they love it and find nothing wrong with it and rave about how much they enjoy sex and are proud of their work in porn. Rock on for them. I'm not judging. Really, I'm not. If someone is of sound, sober mind and wants to make porn movies, rock on, sister. There are people who claim they like being a telemarketer, too. But having met some of those people, I can say with complete authority, the second they're offered a better job, a "legit acting" job, they'll throw off their headset, disconnect their call phone and be nothing but a blur out of the call center. The love the profess for telemarketing will in hindsight be a short-lived affair, a fling, rather than a lifetime commitment built on mutual respect, trust, devotion and love. I presume the same is true for the women who love being porn actresses.
A lot of times, particularly in desperate situations, it's not so much compromising self-respect as it is leveraging it. But the symptom of self-control is the same, regardless of the semantics.
I had a friend/roommate years ago. I have nothing but warm fuzzy feelings about her, then and now. She was a blast. She's the kind of roommate everyone should have in their early 20s. She was nice, funny, non-judgmental, crazy, up for anything, always knew where the best parties were and always paid her share of the rent on time. We'll call her IDDD. We'll get to that in a minute.
IDDD and I hit it off straight away. You know how sometimes you meet someone and there's no pretense, no awkwardness? Nothing but understanding, respect and a mutual awareness that you both see things from the same perspective? Yeah. Kind of like falling in love. A meeting of minds. And hearts, too.
At first glance we were kind of an unlikely pair. I was tall, anorexic, clinically shy and on the Winona Rider in Beetlejuice side. I recently found a few photos of those days and noticed that I bore a striking resemblance to a Beau Brummelstone. You know the Beau Brummelstones, the Flintstones version of the Beau Brummels. (The Beau Brummelstones, oddly, feature a left handed lead guitarist/singer who looks like John Lennon and a right handed bassist who looks like Paul McCartney. See for yourself.)
(You're welcome.)
Yeah. Those Beau Brummelstones. I resembled the tambourinist. (Shockingly, I had dates back then. Men, real guys, who asked me out on dates. I dunno. I got nothin', no explanation other than we were all young and men are weird.) IDDD was a short blond bombshell who thrived on meeting people, she'd initiate conversations with anyone. We hit it off straight away.
IDDD worked in the recording industry. The legit recording industry. Well, as legit as the recording industry gets, anyway. She pursued and got that coveted job by networking. And yes, by networking I mean partying. She never slept with anyone in the company management (that I know of) but she made sure she got to their parties and connected with them. She orchestrated her assault like a five-star general. She researched, knew who was who, found out everything she could about them and got herself in front of them at parties. Next thing you know she had a good job at a leading label.
Okay. So. Those parties. Yeah. Well. You know, they were a lot of fun. IDDD dragged me along for the ride. Not entirely against my will, but, I was in college and double majoring and actually cared about learning and my grades. (I know, silly me, had I only known how useless that education and grades would turn out to be in my later life.) No one other than IDDD could have persuaded me to a) put aside my studies and b) socialize with cool people. The first weekend of roommating with IDDD I learned that she was kind of slutty. Okay, a lot slutty. Okay, a nympho. Not judging, not judging at all. Just stating a fact. She could have just about any guy she fancied, and, so, she had them. IDDD working in the recording industry was like a tech geek working at Apple. She loved the industry and was dedicated to it, but she was just a little too close, a little too involved with her work. Okay, I'll just say it, IDDD had an affinity for rock musicians. She wasn't a groupie, but, if he was in a band and she found him attractive, nothing was out of the question.
Unless.
Unless he was a drummer.
IDDD refused to have anything to do with drummers. I Don't Do Drummers. I soon learned this is a common theme among groupies and recording industry insiders. I've never figured out why. Strong arguments can be made for the skills required - rhythm, energy, biceps, momentum, stamina - I mean, a girl could do worse. People say drummers are by definition crazy, too crazy, even for the rock industry and point to Keith Moon and John Bonham. Okay, but, you know, they were good drummers. IDDD flat out refused to have anything to do with drummers. Much the way I refuse to date smokers. Every woman has her point of intolerance, the line she won't cross.
For IDDD that staunch refusal to do drummers was her way of leveraging her self-respect. She was slutty. She did sleep around, a lot, indiscriminately. She made no excuses or lies about her sex life. Unlike another of our roommates who was sleeping with a Catholic priest at the time (it was all very Thornbirds) who tried to convince everyone she was a virgin and that the priest was merely counseling her on issues with her father (every Friday and Sunday night. In her bedroom.) We were never sure if her issues were with her actual biological father or The Father. He'd shriek out "Oh God, Mother Mary may I? May I?!" she'd shriek out "Oh God, oh God, oh sweet Jesus yes!" so we presumed she had issues with The Father and the friendly neighborhood priest was just doing his job counseling her. (Eventually even the priest openly admitted they were having sex - of course the fact that I was having breakfast one morning and he came into the kitchen sleepy-eyed from our roommate's bedroom, wearing only in his underwear, kind of dictated the acknowledgment, but our roommate maintained that there was no sex involved because she was, of course, a virgin and would never sleep with anyone who wasn't her husband.) That girl had the audacity and self-unawareness to judge and criticize IDDD about her sex life. She routinely called her a whore and told her she was going to Hell - all the while she was sleeping with a Catholic priest and proclaiming to be a virgin. Glass houses. Stones. (I know, I could write a book.) But if anyone insinuated to IDDD that she was easy or slutty she held her head high and proclaimed that she wasn't that easy, she wouldn't sleep with anyone. She would never sleep with a drummer. (Or a priest.) In her mind she had self control because she would not sleep with a drummer. (Or a priest.)
She liked partying and sex and she worked in an industry where both were the expected norm of behavior, just another day at the office. True, IDDD lacked self-control. Ahhhh youth. Didn't we all, in some form or another, lack self-control when we were younger? You have to test your limits to know what your boundaries are. I believe that, staunchly. But. Even the youngest hooligan knows when they're reaching that limit. It just doesn't feel right. You know when your self-respect is being compromised, or when you're leveraging it. Once it's compromised, or even leveraged, self control is harder to maintain.
IDDD once told me she lost her virginity at a concert. It was also the first time she'd ever drank beer. She was 15 and went to the concert with an older boy from school. At the concert, some even older boys bought her and her date beer, she got drunk, the boy from school got drunk, they found an empty corridor on their way back from the bathroom, and that was that. She wasn't upset about it. "Hey, I enjoyed it, too, and we ended up dating for a year." 15-year-olds are not known for their self control. Or self respect. So I'm not comparing adult life choices to being 15, drunk and at a concert. But. IDDD also said that after the world didn't end because she got drunk and had sex, and further, she enjoyed it, she didn't see a need for controlling her sexual desire. She wanted it, she wasn't morally conflicted over it and so she embraced it.
All the television therapists would talk about a pattern of behavior being set at that concert, and unhealthy self esteem resulting and necessary breaking of the cycle. But I dunno. IDDD was one of the most well-adjusted people I've ever known. Sure, she slept around, a lot. But. Taking the sexual judgment out of it, if you didn't know about her sex life, you'd like her, you'd be impressed by her intelligence, humor, generosity, awareness and sincere kindness. (and truly, she somehow managed to be discreet, I was a roommate so I knew what was going on, but I don't think too many other people had a clue she was so, um, active) And she had her limit. She wouldn't do a drummer. That barrier helped her maintain her self-respect. She also knew she couldn't sleep around like that forever. She was well aware that she was young and able to attract men, easily, but that it wouldn't always be that way. She said she wanted to get it while she could, enjoy sex to its fullest potential while she had the opportunities. And she wouldn't sleep with a drummer. To my knowledge she never did, and so her self respect remained in tact. She didn't cross her boundary so in her mind, she didn't lose self control.
How many people do you know who say they "only" drink beer? They justify their alcohol intake by saying, "It's only beer, it's not hard liquor, I'm not doing tequila shots or pounding martinis." Or, their drug use, "Hey, it's only pot, I'm not dropping acid or smoking crack."
It's justifying behaviors. Leveraging self respect and losing a degree of self control. If you can and will stop at a couple beers or an occasional high, then you are exercising self control. Good for you, that's healthy self respect in my book. (And for the record, I'm not judging anyone because they drink beer or smoke pot, if you know your limits and it's not interfering with your life, and you are fully aware of the health risks, then rock on.)
But on those nights one drink turns into two or three, and you realize you're drunk or getting there, and you know another drink will put you over the edge of sobriety, you know you're making a choice to either stop drinking booze or you leverage your self respect, have another drink, get drunk, lose your self control and wake up wondering why your head hurts and who those people are on the floor of your bedroom. Okay, that's an extreme scenario. But once you choose to do something that will push you past your limits of self control your self respect is compromised, or leveraged.
Sometimes there's justification. Self respect is leveraged rather than compromised. Blowing off a little steam, having a little fun...sure. Why not have a few drinks and a little fun, escape your head and life for a while? Not a bad thing in moderation, right?
I am unemployed. I have to find a job doing something, anything, and telemarketing was a quick solution. Far from the best solution or really, even a viable solution. I don't want to do it, but I'm desperate. It's temporary and not a reflection of how I am normally, right? This is me justifying working in telemarketing.
I leveraged my self respect for a minimal paycheck. A paltry sum of money that won't even make a dent in my mortgage payment, but it's the best I could do, quickly, now, and so here I am watching my self respect drain out of me.
And it's no surprise that my self control is losing the battle, too. I don't crutch on alcohol (really, I don't) but lately I'm wondering why not. I enjoy wine, I like a cocktail or two, and quite frankly I like the sense of relaxation I get from it. But I've always maintained a healthy respect for it. I have tested my limits. I know how much is too much for me. I have been utterly blotto and I don't like it, I don't like the complete loss of self control (or the way I feel the next day). But now I'm wondering why. Why not lose self control? I've already lost self respect by taking a telemarketing job. Dignity? That's gone, too. I don't feel good about myself or the choices I had to make. Justify it all you want, make excuses for me, but, I've slept with a drummer. My drummer is a crappy job in telemarketing. It's done, it's over, there's no going back, no matter how quickly I find another job. The fact will always remain: I sold my self respect to the lowest bidder. I slept with a drummer. Once it's done, it's done. So why not embrace losing self control, too? Once self respect is gone, is there a reason to care? I'm starting to understand what the women in porn movies mean by "tuning it out, just going to a blank place in their mind" and get through it.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
So, yay, I was chosen to take the telemarketing training sessions.
If I'm deemed worthy to be one of Satan's henchmen I can begin my exciting career as a telemarketer in as little as a few weeks.
I'm not very good at math, especially story problems, so maybe someone can help me figure out the bottom line.
Trillian has a part time job, on call, to start. She earns $8/hour before taxes. It costs her $6 round trip on the train and bus to get to the call center. She's a single zero taxed at 38%. How many hours does she need to work per round-trip shift to accrue a net profit?
My calculations tell me it will take me 2 hours of work to pay for my commute - with 8¢ left over. That can't be right, can it? I'm mathematically challenged so please, someone, please tell me I'm wrong. Tell me working in Hell, doing Satan's work, for two hours will be worth more than a net profit of 8¢.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Add this to the Things I Wish I Didn't Know file:
There are brass rings in telemarketing.
There are telesurveys, the sort of bottom rung. You call people and if they don't hang up on them you ask them to answer survey questions. If you can read and push a button you can do this job.
Telesales is a hot ticket job because at some companies you can earn a commission. It's a step up from telesurveying, although it can involve telesurveying, too. But the goal is to sell something. Over the phone. Have you ever bought anything from an unsolicited telemarketer who randomly calls you? Yeah, me either. Do you know anyone who has? Yeah, me either. Have you ever even listened to a telemarketer's sales schpeel? Yeah, me either. But for the very motivated sales person, "they" say there's good commission to be made with telesales jobs.
But the really big telemarketing money ($10+ per hour!) is in:
Bilingual telemarketing/telesales. If you are fluent in Spanish you can have an exciting career in telemarketing. $10+/hour and maybe even a full-time job! The telemarketing company dangles that $10 (+!) carrot as if it's a big stinking deal. And naturally they have suggestions as to how to learn Spanish, you can take lessons and they'll deduct the class fee from your paycheck. How convenient. I noticed a lot of people were taking the pamphlet on English classes. Apparently Spanish speaking telemarketers get the bilingual $10+ carrot dangled in front of them, too. Bilingual telemarketers are in high demand.
I know a teeeny tiny bit of Spanish, not enough to be conversational in a sales and marketing capacity, though. And I enjoy languages and learning them but...somehow learning to speak Spanish for the purpose of furthering my career ($10 (+!)/hour) in telemarketing isn't exactly motivating me.
Remind me again why I'm bothering with life. Please. Remind me what the point is. I've completely lost the plot.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Oh lucky me! Finally, things are turning around for me!
In one day I got not one, but two job offers!
Even better, they're both part time so I can do both!
One involves manual labor and the other involves entering a few circles of Hell (I'm trying to work out which, I think 7 and 8, though I think I'll pass through 4 and 5.)
My friend's sister-in-law has a landscaping business. It's spring. I know you're thinking, "hmmmm, I've don't recall Trillian ever mentioning gardening or yardwork as things she enjoys or would like to spend more time doing..." And you're right. I'm not in any way qualified for landscaping, however, I'm tall and I have long arms. What, you may wonder, is the connection between landscaping and long arms? They have a lot of calls for gutter cleaning. They need someone who can climb a ladder and clear out gutters. Long arms are a big plus in this endeavor. Finally! A job I'm innately qualified to do! Rock on! Except for the climbing ladders part. I'm not exactly sure-footed these days so I'm a little concerned about the safety factors involved with me and my injured foot climbing a ladder. I'm going to make a few practice/test climbs this afternoon. Woo hoo! A job! Cleaning gutters! (Insert joke of your choice about how we all knew I'd end up in a gutter someday.)
Now for the really exciting job opportunity.
Telemarketing!
I know, I know. I have staunchly held firm to my conviction that I would kill myself before I even contemplated a telemarketing job. But. It's the only job offer I've had since being laid off and even though it's only part time and it's only $9/hour and it won't pay my mortgage or provide any benefits, health or otherwise, it's a job. If I do well in the telesurvey area I can advance to the telesales area, that's where the big bucks are, commission!
Yes. A job in the Seventh Circle of Hell (with opportunity for advancement into the Eighth Circle of Hell) is not exactly the career opportunity I need, but, what else am I going to do? Anyone have any better ideas or viable job leads? Yeah. Didn't think so.
So my bright future is now in cleaning gutters (assuming I can safely navigate a ladder) and telemarketing.
I'm publicly apologizing in advance for the pain and suffering and anger I will inflict on innocent people in my telemarketing endeavors. If I weren't desperate I would never, ever do it and I'm honestly considering the pros and cons of suicide v. telemarketing. So far they're equal. I'm thinking telemarketing = suicide. So if I call you and you have an urge to angrily give me a snarky response please keep in mind that I hate it as much as you do and I'm doing this because it's my career choice. I'm doing this because there are very few "real" jobs and thousands of great candidates for those "real" jobs. And I'm desperate and scared and depressed and suicidal. And a telemarketing job is only going to exacerbate those issues. Don't yell at me, just hang up on me. Deal?
