Saturday, May. 10, 2003 - 11:06 p.m.

Delerious

I went to work in a sour mood from writing last night’s post. At work today, I was unfocused and stuttering a lot. A little flat Vanilla Coke went a long way toward remedying both problems, and I made a step towards solving the third: I resolved that as much as I hate looking for work, I must leave my job at Good Sense of Life Phone Surveys as soon as I can.

I went there with a strong hope of making upwards of $10/hour after commissions. Ishtar and other workers there said that was very achievable. But times have changed, and the interviewers are all complaining now that they’re not making what they used to. I think I’m actually decent at this job, but my prowess isn’t showing up on my paycheck. Yes, I am making some commissions, but these don’t even make up for what I lose in bus fare and commute time. So I’ve come to think of it as “my minimum wage job”, because the base pay is all I can depend on from them. I can’t make more money by working harder or smarter because too many factors are forever beyond my control. I can’t control what completes are worth, and lately they’ve paid very little. I can’t control whether the sample is great, or is all disconnected numbers, answering machines, fax machines, or businesses (the computer called two pizza parlors and a church for me today). I can’t control whether a certain quota is filled (say, females in the South earning less than $100,000 a year) right before I get a complete, thereby making the preceding half hour of pleading and cajoling not only a waste of time, but a ruination of the return-per-hour I could have had, taking me below the line for getting paid a commission. I cannot control whether I get mid-term’s (people quitting in the middle of a survey.)

Secondly, I increasingly feel really bad doing the job. Granted, when I whine about Good Sense of Life Phone surveys, keep in mind that this job is still easily twice as good as the telemarketing job. The people are still fun, the environment alright, and the hours somewhat flexible. I don’t call them Good Sense of Life for nothing. But still, I’m making a living bothering people in their homes, and that’s not meeting my need for integrity. Most of them get mad at me, which is not meeting my needs for peace, harmony, and acceptance. The heartfelt appreciation I give to my respondents who give me completes cannot make up for the guilt I feel for pissing so many people off, maybe even ruining their days, pushing them over the edge, making them go postal on the people around them. I used to have this rule of thumb for evaluating decisions: does it bring more love into the world? If it does not, it ain’t no good. And this job brings annoyance to thousands every day. I want very badly to make the world a better place, and here I am making it worse. Eeyore suggested I should find honest work. Damn straight. In leaving telemarketing and switching to phone surveys, I’ve gone from being a crack whore to being a call girl, but I’m still the pariah of the industrialized world, more reviled than Osama Bin Laden, because I touch more lives.

I swear I surveyed the same 55-year old woman in the South with grown-up kids 3 or 4 times in a row this afternoon. If so, she didn't let on. Being caught in a loop like that sure made the time pass quicker. Tunnel...tunnel... Complexity scentist Ilya Prigogine says that it is symmetry-breaking which allows us to perceive time, and may define time itself. No change=no time.

Some bimbo mid-termed me near the end of a survey, and had the nerve to cop an attitude while doing it. I was steaming mad, and decided to redeem the certificate I got a month ago (in appreciation for dialing after hours) for an extra 30-minute break. So I took a double-long lunch at Taco Bell and savored my Grilled Stuft [sic] Burrito. Chilling out, I remembered that I have already figured out how to deal with my emotions and control my attitude. When thinking about being isolated and unfulfilled, all I had to do was allow myself to be as sad as I need to be, and stop fighting it. Then instead of torture, it becomes a sweet reminder of being alive. Then I realized I’m not actually very lonely, just mostly afraid of being alone. No prob. Fear is a piece of cake to deal with once you identify it as such. Just stand your ground, don’t flinch, be infinitely patient and relaxed, and fear can’t touch you. Then there’s my attitude. Do I wanna be a whiny, neurotic bitch feeling like I’m in the trash compactor, or would I rather assume I have all the security I need, and then be proactive about improving my lot? I make the mental adjustment, and I can immediately feel the organs in my abdomen shifting around, and I feel I’m digesting my burrito better. These techniques are simple to practice. It’s remembering to use them that’s hard.

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