Call Centre Collector

Meanwhile in Maidstone, I sit here writing this, pulling nails off my fingers; with the lingering taste of an unsatisfactory muffin in my mouth. Muffins are overrated, like chocolate-cake. And wot? Much prefer a chocolate-digestive, the undisputed king of the UK biscuit-game. Complete with a cup of tea, I feel like a military general with his loyal attack dog by his side, casually bowling onto the battlefield; drinking a cup of tea, just to muddle the metaphor even further. Someone get me a chocy-digestive, lively! He says. So what’s going on? Another week done. Time is moving fast, mate, this year is almost 6 months old. Enough with the sentimentality, Paul, get on with it, son. Ok, Dad. Alright. So this week’s offering is hope. Sort of. It’s another piece from Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best. Yep. So how’s that connect to hope? Well, a few weeks ago, writing the introduction to that days post, I mentioned how I’ve been struggling with this particular section of the show that I’m about to share. I then said last week that I’d started re-writing it, but was probably going to cut it; which was the case, until Tuesday, this week, sat on the Maidstone to Victoria train. I was out of ideas and just writing through to the end, in the hope that something would present itself. For some reason, I got the urge to re-start it again, slightly differently and this time it just flowed out in that way that rarely happens, ie I fleshed it out fairly quickly and in a way that just feels, well right, like when I get up in the morning and let the dogs into the garden. They just burst out the door. It’s still scrappy, far from finished but it’s a satisfying feeing and has altered my thinking on the whole thing. I’d share what I originally wrote, so you could see where I’m coming form but then, like school, that would probably be a bit well boring. A little word on the form. So this whole section of the show (none of which I’ve shared on here as yet) is written in this sort-of, list-poetry-style. I felt it lends itself nicely to the present-tense yet allows me to fill in any background information gaps, whilst moving the story a bit quicker. And I enjoy saying it this way. That’s the thinking anyway. So that’s your lot for now. Got an idea for a little article I want to write, regarding Peep Show. That may appear on here in the next few weeks, but then again I had this idea to write something about rap lyrics and working with kids. Started writing it and it was terrible. Not that confident with the ‘thought sharing’ part of Lager-Time as yet. But you know, who dares wins and all that. If you like, hit that subscribe. Had one new subscriber join the ranks last week, thankyou, whoever you are. Please don’t be a bot. Tortoise and the hare, mate. Have a banging weekend. Same next time next week? CALL CENTRE COLLECTOR Nothing like a slice of home cooked humble pie Stayed at mum and dads for a week A week not at work meaning a week with no pay But I had mum and dad to look after me I was lucky I swear it was meant to be the other way around once I moved out Wiped out with exhaustion That’s what the nurse said And a ticking off about recreational drug use Told me to stick to paracetamol and aspirin Don’t worry, I said I won’t be doing that again I’ll just stick to booze that feeling of fatigue has been lingering for a few months now Got back to Brighton Got my nut down Moved house again Number 4 changed jobs again Number 4 Me and Mohammed got taken on permanently by the bank We’re junior collectors now Makes us sound like charity workers If only Were Call centre drones , mercenaries Collecting debt on loans and overdrafts Shifts are long But I’m on a salary £13.5k a year Holiday pay Sick pay And wacky team building days out the longer hours meant I had to stop the cleaning job But now earning slightly more And in a house share again My bills are slightly less I’m living with Mick and Mit Socially it’s good Mates come and visit We’re making music I’m writing more lyrics than ever Even stories and poems, the ideas never stopped coming I’m reading more Getting my eating under control I’ve started running in the evenings too But this job is pretty gruelling Wake up trudge out to work Like there’s stage weights strapped to my back Plug in my headset Wait for the beep Customer details snap on screen Hello you through to Pcan I take your account details please Another debt laden customer Sometimes I wonder how they got in this situation Target driven bank-selling Pressurized Christmas spending Adverts telling you you’re worth it Without the apr Sky tv subscriptions Holidays and cigarettes And liberal card spending That’s how they got me I can normally tell me within the first few words how it’s gonna go Sometimes they’re nice Sometimes they’re friendly Sometimes they’re relived Sometimes they’re desperate Sometimes they’re angry Sometimes they threaten me Keep tally everytime I get called a c u n t I’m in double figures Someitmes they’re abusive Sometimes racist Mohammed gets it a lot They hear his accent and assume his calling from India and the amount of times I’ve been asked if I’m black what does that even mean and why is that relevant to the call? Supposedly all we have to do is follow the flow chart The great flow chart Every call should go the same way Either they make a payment or make an arrangement All done in 7 minutes So our team leaders say bosh That’s it As if it’s all that simple Bag one then BEEP onto the next one when I take too long on a call like the man that was suicidal or the lady who was in floods of tears after Getting threatening court letters when she doesn’t even bank with Lloyds the supervisors who monitor the calls Come round and passively aggressively tell me I’m taking too Long on my calls, then point to the flow chart on the walls Then the league tables Next to the empty motivational messages Showing my teams stats Whose collected the most dough Made the most arrangements And where I’m sat Often on the bottom Letting the team down They tell me I’m not assertive enough Punch out the code for the toilet The carzy on my floor has been busted for ages Have to go up two flights of stairs Only two traps up there and 4 floors of geezers So If I need to bless-it And they’re engaged I have to wait And when I come back Supervisor of the year is at my desk Asking why I took so long When I can, I go to lunch with Mohammed Though Our shifts often don’t align I miss working side by side He’s so calm He’s not phased by this job He tells me to not take it all to heart, there’s more to life he says I feel guilty when I moan He’s got his wife and his baby I can barely take care of me I go home each night wiped out But I try and force myself to do something either that or it’s watch MTV Pimp My Ride Mohamed’s right, there is more to life Waited my whole life to get cable TV what a disappointment it is spend my time on it channel hopping so much choice yet so little worth watching As much as it hurts my brain after those long days I try to read a book or write a verse or practise Some bars that I’ve already written I feel I owe it to my skull It’s the only way I know to Fight that dull feeling that’s like Someone slowly pulling a tired grey Tarpaulin over the skies Been in Brighton for 18 months 4 addresses 4 jobs times moving on so should I This is a public episode. 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