work and absence of

April 18, 2003 at 3:09 am Leave a comment

The guy across from me in the cubicle looks like Dustin Hoffman, has that kind of air about him, and wears a pair of those really cool reading glasses they sell in West Palm that are like 15 different colors all pressed into one tacky little package. He’s my hero, if I end up working here more than a month, I know I’ll end up like him. Darren is gone for off being a jewish as he puts it. Remarking something about how he’s gonna make his girlfriend a few, and generally saying things that make me feel like I should be anti-semitic. Add to this, it’s pass-over and we’re calling households asking them to take vacation and ever Rubenstein on the list is naturally pissed at you, you’d think the gentiles that run Hilton would think to make some considerations to making us less asshole like. Paris and Nicky must need cash bad to be pawning hotel registery information for timeshare telemarketing. Perhaps their plastic surgery bills are finally coming in. It’s day four and I’ve sold nothing. The guy next to me is doing alright, the jaded middle age guy is obviously doing well on his second day and several managers come by to compliment him and generally make him aware he’s a genuis of the telemarketing game. I listen to his conversation wondering what makes him good, but all he does is talk and his game doesn’t seem forgien, just refined. The 35 year old next to me is doing fine, so many years in the game she sounds like your grandmother when she calls and drives a yellow cadoliac with hydraluicis to work. She’s my favorite out of the bunch, a little attractive, very personable, and a little weird, she sells timeshare well. The guy younger than me they also hired has managed to sell a few packages, maybe one a day, he seems happy with what he’s doing today. None of the closing folks come by my cubicle and pull their fucking box them in type of shit which they do with the other folks. Lunch I pull out a thai salad and sit around on a table while the other folks smoke by the stairs. The first days of telemarketing sucked, I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I didn’t know till I got into it that I’d also so thoroughly object to it. Around day 3 most of these objections pass and you get angry at all the assholes out there that don’t buy your shit, you do work for comission after all. You forget your the total ass that’s fucking working for a form of advertising that only reaches 3-4% of those called, and bothers 600 at dinner, on their private lines, and eats up their cellphone minutes, all for the ludcrious shot at selling 150 dollars worth of vacation time. This is complicated by the fact that your selling vacation spots that come with a mandatory time share tour, which is in fact a manadatory we lock you in a conference room and turn up the heat while you squirm and we try and make you buy timeshare type of thing. This actually happens, out of the 1800 people I talked to in 4 days, 3 had gone on the Hilton vacation w/ timeshare tour and all reported that such hard sell tactics we definitely in use. At 8:00 p.m. Iris, the seriously fucked in the heard woman training me, calls me into the office. Before they can even speak I give them two weeks notice, Irisis says she doesn’t want me to work two more weeks, they want me to leave now. I load up my coat, say good bye to the 35 year old grandmother next to me who seems ambivalent, and leave. I call Darren and tell him I quit or they let me go or whatever you wanna call it. Everyone seems miserable in timeshare, the older better ones are all jaded asses that are pretty cool guys, and then their’s Irisis who intensly focuses normality and cheer for all of 3 minutes before looking like she’s about to explode from whatever pyschotic predicament her mind is caught in. Mind, I got a pyschocitic predicament too, but her’s seem to have ballooned like an intense with a butt plug and is always ready to burst. Her self-assuring self-help mantras seem like good help, but she seems to mistake her real mood for the little phrases she passes to herself day to day. It’s all fucked up in other words. When I get home I head out to Sheshe’s to give her the new Otto CD, talk to Rhet and Laura for a second, and then head out to the beach after swining by stardust. I never make it to the beach, preferring just to drive and by Dorritos on along the way, on the way back I get caught behind a truck that looks like it’s hauling the bodies of dead sharks. A story occurs to me and I go home to write it. I’m going to make a script out of it and send it in into Augenblick studios. Maybe that will make me some money.


A

Entry filed under: media.

grats e-mails

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