We're Dealing With Food, Not Missiles Here, Governor!

We ponder and talk about so many things during a week. The weather, food, travel, business, news, television, music, education, and even sex. But one sure favorite that hits home every time, because of its sheer proximity to who we are and how much time we spend on it every day, is work. We all have the perfect life carefully plotted out in our heads, or at least the qualities which to strive for, be it love or money, picket fences and dogs or visiting every one of the world's continents. And a commonality for most of us is that right now, right as we're sitting here browsing the web and reading blogs or cruisin' Facebook, is that we haven't really arrived at that 'ideal' point in our life yet. We're on our way, slowly progressing towards whatever we are sure will make us happy, whatever will complete us.

Personally I feel like I'm just getting started on that very journey towards what I want out of life. We all have to start somewhere, and that usually means getting a job which requires no real qualifications, skill, or previous experience. And if those jobs didn't exist, there wouldn't really be any place for people like me to gain that said experience most other careers have as a prerequisite. Last summer I started working for a pizza company here in Oslo, and the job turned out to be well paid too. Dolly Dimple's ("The taste that gets you hooked") Pizza is one of Norway's two big pizza distributors, and puts up a real fight in the competition for that coveted number one spot as far as quality and service goes. And service, well, that's where I come in. I work at the customer care center, and thus the phone, headset and computer are my primary tools in keeping the pizza hungry satisfied.

People are weird, weird creatures. Every, single day of our lives we stress that each and every one of us is special, equal, and that we should be treated the same way, without fault. If you are a teacher, stay at home mom, or a firefighter you're a hero, and if you happen to be a Wal-Mart clerk, a gardener, or a mechanic, you're a hard-working person just as deserving of the world's perks as anyone else. But this is where our society's bigotry and hypocrisy starts to shine through. If you ever find yourself to be working in the service industry, you might as well wear a hat saying "Lower Than Dirt" or "Kick Me in the Face, I Really Like It".

Dolly Dimple's has a lot of great customers, from all walks of life. But polite, cautious and considerate as Norwegians usually are known to be in person, they really can't handle ordering things over the phone. Like when you flip a switch, it would seem that most people think that when they dial the number to the pizza place, the person they're about to be connected to is the most lowly, abominable piece of undeserving trash they could ever find themselves having to talk to. They're sure people who work at customer care centers, people like myself, couldn't get any other job if they tried ever so hard, and that the dimwits and morons who take their pizza orders should count themselves lucky to be earning money (and not begging in the streets or selling magazines to passersby) at all.

On most days people at the very least find the decency to present themselves when connected to the customer care agent. But that's certainly not a given. Every day I get dozens of calls where all I get when saying my obligatory "Hello, you're talking to Christian" is "A huge pepperoni pizza, and I want it NOW! Get a move on!!" But that's a mild and reasonably well mannered person compared to other calls I have gotten. Consider this one, for example:

Me: Hello, you're talking to Christian.
Man: Oh, yeah?! I don't give a flying f**k! I want my pizza!!
Me: Okay, sir, then I'll need your phone number where you can be reached.
Man: I don't wanna give you my f**king phone number! Write down my name instead!
Me: That's not how it works, sir. We need a phone number in order to reach you, as well as register your order.
Man: That is a F**KING LIE!! Get off your F**KING fat ass, you stupid f**k, and get your supervisor on the phone RIGHT NOW!!
ME: One moment, sir.

Other examples, of course, include more extensive name calling, yelling, screaming, death threats, and even threats of violence and other charming human aggressional behaviors. But I could care less for the verbal abuse, it's actually the more subtle stuff that gets to me. People take their pizzas more seriously than anyting else, for some reason, and when considering it from the outside in it's actually immensely ridiculous. And it's the pedanticism and pettiness of it all that amazes me, and to some extent even fascinates me. Every day I (not a chef or even a deliverer) get yelled at by extremely angry people, who for some reason actually get worked up over something as trivial as not getting tomatoes or having to pick off the mushrooms themselves. Wake up and smell the coffee (or pizza) here, people!! It's JUST pizza. If I just denied you a liver transplant or amputated your legs for the kicks (no pun intended) of it, I would understand. But pizza?! Really? Could someone please realize that when people are starving to death every single second, wars are claiming lives every day, animals are going extinct, global warming will erase future generations' knowledge of snow, and women are being sexually assaulted every day, you have to be a simple-minded, egotistical, self-centered douchebag to ever throw a tantrum over not getting onions on your pizza? My goodness, have some decency. The people you're talking to are hard-working, great, clever people who try intensely to do their job and make sure you get what you ordered, and the pizza you ordered is not a new lung or anything but a simple meal. We're dealing with food, not missiles here, governor.

.

Labels: Everyday, Personal Issues, Philosophy, Ponderings, Work

posted by CK @ 04:09