I went to my first footy training of the pre-season today. Oh boy. I’m a little bit more unfit than I thought I was. The first nice little activity planned? – A beep test. If there’s one thing that makes me feel instantly nauseous, it’s a fucking beep test. It brings back memories of running back & forth in my high school gym in Devonport. Once I even had to run it in socks as part of some cruel basketball training session. Oh, the humanity. Anyway, it looks like the next 4 months of preseason are going to be a fucking slog. Joy.

My housemate used to have the gas bill for our place in his name. He has since moved out, and I’ve had to get it changed into my name. You’d think this would be an easy process, right? You’d be fucking wrong.

I called today (the 5th or 6th time a call has been made to the gas company (TruEnergy for those of you playing at home – what a bunch of cunts) and tried to do a few things.

1)      Get someone out to read the gas meter (as we got slogged with a 440% increase on our last gas bill due to an ‘estimated gas meter reading’ which is basically just a euphemism for, “Let’s bend this client over a barrel and fuck them until they bleed out like a stuck pig because we couldn’t be fucked sending out a meter technician at the time that the client specifically selected several months ago, even though the individual concerned had to take time off work to wait for your monkey to come out with a clipboard somewhere between the hours of 8am and midnight.”)

 

2)      Change the client name from my ex-housemate’s name to my name.

I was on the phone to them for literally 55 minutes. As I sat in the darkened meeting room at my office, glaring at the burgeoning idiocy literally pouring out of the conference phone as I spoke to what appeared to be a never-ending cavalcade of progressively more inept call centre operators, my mood quickly turned from begrudging politeness to frustration, and then, eventually, incontrollable anger.

I used to work in a call centre for a couple of years, so I’m always sympathetic to other call centre workers as it’s a dead-set guarantee that their day involves dealing with a  fairly large proportion of irrational dickheads. However, there’s only so much you can take of someone speaking aloud the words that they’re typing out on their keyboard. The fuck even had the gall to say, “Hey, I’m just typing a note to our technicians, here goes!” before literally saying every single word he typed. It was so clear that he didn’t have an idea what he was doing, so I just told him, “Listen, you obviously aren’t going to fix this, so please let me speak to someone who can.”

HE FUCKING AGREED.

End result – I got transferred to someone who gave me a 10% discount & is calling me back tomorrow to confirm a time for a meter-reading monkey  to come out!

Moral of the story? Sometimes, being a cunt does pay off.

No more bill shock for me! I FUCKING HATE THE TERM BILL SHOCK).

/end communication

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