workingfortheman.com

I worked in customer service for a large, downtown insurance company for one year and 8 days. For eight hours every day, with one hour for lunch and two fifteen minute breaks (which were regimented to an unbelievable degree) I sat at my desk, staring at my computer monitor, wearing a headset being bombarded with phone calls, mostly from the elderly.

Now, anyone who has never dealt with the elderly may not know that they require a particular kind of service, those who do deal with the elderly are now smirking and nodding I'm sure. In my experience there are 2 kinds of senior citizens: the ones that are happy and active and respectful and the ones that feel like the fact that they are older than you gives them license to treat you like crap - I mean it's like all their inhibitions have disappeared along with their hearing. Seniors can say the most insulting and hurtful things and we write it off because they're old. Unfortunately most seniors seem to fall into the second category. To be fair, I'm sure in my old age I will as well.

Now, some of the other Customer Service reps used aliases when talking to clients. They chose these alternate names because their experience was that their own names were difficult for the seniors to say or to remember. I didn't expect any problems - my name is Alex, which is pretty easy to say for most North Americans. It turned out that I was wrong not to anticipate trouble though, because while my name night be easy to say, I am a woman, and evidently this is just more proof of the fact that the world has gone all to hell in the last 30 years.

Most of the time the conversations went like this:

Alex: "Thank you for calling, this is Alex speaking."
Senior: "What did you say your name was?"
Alex: "Alex. How can I help you?"
Senior: "Alice?"
Alex: "(sigh) Yes, that's right, how can I help you?"

Or, they would insist on knowing what Alex was short for, as they were not about to call me Alex just because I said that was my name. Frequently the seniors would just tell me "That's a boy's name." The more cautious ones would just ask "Isn't that a boy's name?" What were they expecting? Perhaps that I would suddenly reveal that is wasn't *really* my name, but one that I had adopted in a fit of teenage rebelliousness just to confuse and anger old codgers like themselves?!

Some days in the call centre were really busy, and on a few of these days I took over 100 phone calls from obnoxious and ignorant people. One one such day I was feeling particularly worn down and the calls just kept coming. On this day I was not prepared to laugh about my boy's name, or explain why my mother would curse me with a man's name... Or even just talk about the weather (something that is near and dear to all seniors' hearts, I am convinced).

My phone rang and I answered with my usual line of intrigue: "This is Alex speaking, how can I help you?"

The man on the line followed up with (yawn!): "Whaddya say your name was?". (I was thinking that this man was probably named John - One day I spoke to six men in a row named John!):

"My name is Alex." I said flatly, I was NOT going to have this banter again today.

"Well," he rumbled, "You sound kinda high for a boy!" He virually guffawed at this statement. This guy thought that he was pretty funny.

"Sir, I don't get high at work," I dead panned.

At this point the rep sitting next to me looked over, wide-eyed. The man on the phone paused for a moment and then clarified: "I mean your voice sounds kind of high for a boy's."

I smirked at the rep next to me and said: "Well sir, I'm not a boy... Anymore." there was silence on the other end, then he cleared his throat and said: "Well my name's John and I'm looking for insurance."

Rusty Valentine lives a generic life in total obscurity. She lives in a big city and works in a tall office building. To most people she is nothing but a voice. She is beginning to wonder if she really exists. Visit her website at www.rustyvalentine.com.

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