Outsourced

Outsourced

This is about being outsourced. Yesterday I had to deal with Earthblink Customer Service. As usual, I spoke with someone in let us say, a faraway place that begins with the letter “I.”

Whoever invented the expression “It’s all fun and games” should be shot with a  gun that says ‘Bang’. Shakespeare kneweth of what he writeth when he spoke of strutting and fretting our lives upon the stage. Mostly, I fret. The strutting part is difficult to pull off when you are on hold with customer service for most of your life. And the questions these people ask! You have to say everything like this. “Yes, my name is V as in victory, i as in idiotic, c as in cantankerous, k as in kill you, i as in innocent.”  And “Keith” (read Kumar) doesn’t get the joke. And you don’t get to hang up until you succeed in pulling the answer from him as if you were performing oral surgery.

You see, I wanted to transfer my domain name to another server. To Earthblink, I was going on the map as Benedict Arnold to even think of switching service providers. So I took another Stupid Pill and propped a pillow behind my aching head to listen to “Keith” walk me through the gates of hell and back. At the end of an hour, I hung up on him. I doubt he noticed. He probably still has me on the phone in an alternate reality asking me if I would stay with Earthlink if they promised to cut the bill and give me things that are clearly illegal in certain states.

I am writing this with my tongue not only in cheek but wrapped in an ace bandage. It got that sore from speaking with Keith (not his real name). I have had it with outsourcing. Actually, I didn’t write this diatribe. Keith did. That is his way of getting back with me. He is roaring with laughter right now and starring in the Bollywood version of Outsourcing the Universe.

*No Indians were actually harmed in the writing of this piece. I have many good friends there and they know who they are. Molly, Amanda, Herbert, Oswald, Lennie…the whole gang.  They just don’t dare ask me to spell my name!

7 Comments

  1. Kumar, for shame. I know it’s you. But I shall keep the lotus blossom, many dates and figs, sorrowful countless apologies and be expecting many rupees and trips to Agra, compliments of Earthblink. Now go soak your head in the Ganges.

    Reply

    1. Thank you too much. Now I am refreshingly cleansed and much pleasing to my telemarketing cubicle mates. Sadly, the long soaking has disrupted my abilities and I am no longer capable to hear the honey sweet music of your impatient domain demands, Radhe. We humbly ask you, therefore, to put your requests in writing. To avoid delay, it would be most expeditious of you to use Sanskrit.

      Reply

  2. I am snortling with laughter. Just coined a new word. How to talk to Indian man like yourself cubicled with joy like jello and a head soaked in sacred nonsense. I would put my further requests in writing, but I prefer them to be put somewhere else. I am blinking with the earth of the dung beetle slowness of you, o, earthblinker.

    Reply

    1. Also, I am cavorting with laughter. Most regrettably, my bliss burst came at a most unfortunate time, as my lips were happily engaged in the consumption of Chai tea. The spray badly soaked my keyboard, precipitating a hard drive nose dive crash. Sadly, not only were your files lost, the most extravagant cost of repairs will be added to your charges. I am most pleased to be your customer service friend.

      Reply

  3. If this is your idea of pleasure, perhaps you should book a cruise to Siberia and enjoy cavorting there naked in the snow and later follow that up with a massage by a local bear. Put that in your ISP and smoke it, Kumar. The bliss of being your friend is only exceeded by the torture of knowing you don’t understand a word I say, idiomatically speaking. And yet you ARE an idiomath on some level in a world where friendliness is only surpassed by idiocy. Ciao, Kumar. Enjoy your chai. Btw, may I call you my Customer Service Fiend?

    Reply

    1. OK. Troot is, I’m from Brooklyn and we use this rouse to con youse outta your smack. How’s that for a mocha twist, sis? Which, speaking of dough, BTFW, you had enough to pick up an iMac I hear trough the grapevine. Good you youse.

      Reply

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