Let�s begin today�s outing with a look at yesterday�s American Idol. The long and short of it is that Ruben and Clay rocked, Trenyce [gimme, gimme, gimme a last name after midnight] and Kimberley Locke are jockeying for third place, and Josh Gracin needs to go home now. So, nothing new under the sun. It�s really kind of sad that now The Dread Carmen is gone, I just don�t have anything to get worked up in a lather about. I guess if Josh doesn�t go home tomorrow night, I�ll have plenty to go berserk about, but right now? Meh.
And now let�s talk about how much the people in this office suck. You know how they won�t take their calls? And they knock me down to get to the bathroom? And they just suck in general? Yeah, well, they�re still at it.
In a way, it�s kind of satisfying, really. See, here�s what happened: Kent, the Director of Sales, found out about how Dolly and Miranda kept refusing to take calls, because each call they reject gets sent to our Orange County office. The OC people, in the meantime, are getting really fed up with doubling their workload so Dolly and Miranda can gossip and play fucking canasta or whatever. Plus which, it means that all our potential revenue is going into the OC coffers, which Kent is particularly freaked about. Ergo, when he found out that I was diverting a good 75% of our daily inquiries to our southland office, he went all Piper Laurie, Carrie-style, on the sales team up here.
By which I mean he got all strict with them. Not that he was commenting on their dirty pillows, or anything.
Thusly chastened, the sales team was forced to start taking the fucking calls. (For that day, at least. They�re back to their old tricks today.) But now they�re all resentful about it, and they�re taking it out on me! Like it�s all my fault they got busted, because I should be over here, just filling out inquiry form after inquiry form, letting them pile up in the inbox, and then getting reamed by Kent for not, you know, sending them down to Orange County as per company policy of having each caller speak immediately with a salesperson. So now Dolly and Miranda are grumpy, which makes me feel a little better, and at least I�m doing what the real boss wants, but they need to lose the �tude, and fast.
Of course, I�m not too crazy about Kent right now, because he made me photocopy this 100-page manual for him, which was an exercise in futility. This is what I�m doing with my college education, Mom! Aren�t you proud of me?
Oh, and I mentioned this about Dolly before, but now they�re all doing it, so I�m going to talk about it again. They all love to tromp out here to the front office, lurk next to the printer (which is, coincidentally, on my desk), and read my emails, diary entries, and other personal internet business over my shoulder. Considering that half of what I do online anymore is bitch about them, this is not a good thing. I�ve really learned how to work those Alt-Tab muscles, though, I tell ya. I also wish I could send Pussy Galore an email without Miranda being like, �Wait, don�t send it -- I haven�t finished, yet.�
Okay, I exaggerate (slightly). She really says things like, �Wow, what�s that part with the baby about? Did her daughter get sick or something?� Like, gee, why don�t you just tune in to 20/20 tonight? I think Barbara Walters is going to do a whole feature about it, what with it apparently being everybody�s fucking business all of a sudden.
Now back off, Nosy Parker, or I�ll tell Kent on you.
