Let me start out first by saying that because I hate my workplace so much, I’m intentionally avoiding writing about it. For one, the job really isn’t worth more than three seconds’ worth ov attention, and it’s so relentlessly despicable that talking about it outside ov the workplace makes my stomach hurt; also, it’s such a hideous and socially-reviled job that I would be hard-pressed to find people who are sympathetic to my cause (in case you’ve just joined us, it’s telemarketing, but the company prefers the term ‘fundraising’). Finally, I didn’t want ‘Shouting to hear the echoes’ to turn into A Blog Where All I Do Is Bitch About My Job. Personally I feel that people think I’m boring enough as it is; I don’t need to provide additional evidence to support that claim. However, today’s work experience was somewhat noteworthy..

So I’m at my aforementioned loverly workplace today when one ov my colleagues — we’ll call him Slick — stops round to my cubicle for the day’s salutation. He’s one ov the literally four or five employees I will go out ov my way to acknowledge the presence ov, and that’s only cos he was enquiring about my relationship with Kati, who was the one good friend I had at work before, so he’s one ov those ‘you made eye contact with me, now you’re my friend for life’ kind ov fellas. Heh.
At any rate, Slick stops by — while I’m on the phone with someone, mind you (and that’s a topic that I’ll have to address at a later time; how I can’t feckin’ stand it when someone tries talking to me when I’m on a phone) — and after a couple ov brief seconds, he leans towards me and says, sotto voce, ‘Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could get some powder, do ya?’ I’m like ‘What??’; partially cos I was taken aback at the question, as no-one has ever asked me where they could score some drugs from before, and partially cos I was, as previously stated, on the phone, and I’m not talented enough to be able to listen to more than one human at a time.
‘Err, no, actually, I don’t,’ I replied, tilting the mouthpiece on my headset away. He nodded, made the OK sign, then headed for the bog. Ahem. Upon exiting, he passed by one more time and remarked, ‘Hey — be sure to keep this between you & me, huh?’ I gave him a hearty thumbs-up. I mean, really; what else could I do?

Yeeaaah, that’s brilliant. Between the coke addicts, and the white trash whores, and the black trash whores, and the fucking jock with the needlessly loud voice sat in the cubicle right next to me, wow — my workplace is just like Interzone

SOME GUY ON THE OTHER LINE: My wife’s not here right now, she’s out golfing.
ME: Stalking??
GUY: GOLFING.
ME: Ahh, that… that makes more sense.
GUY: Heh heh — well, I guess they’re kinda similar…
ME: This is true. You’re following the ball everywhere it goes… you’ve got a blunt metal object… sometimes there’s bushes involved.
GUY: …

Here’s one for the Philosophers: Why do people feel the need to bluff their way thru a language that they don’t fluently speak? Typical scene at work:

ME: Hi, Mrs Vallejo?
CLUELESS: Sí?
ME: I’m calling from [company name]. How are ya this afternoon?
CLUELESS (nervous laughter): Wha?
ME (louder, slower): HOOWWW AAARE YOOUUUUU.
CLUELESS: Uh… I not… I…
ME (near my limit): Se habla Englis?
CLUELESS: Poquito.

Little tip: if the first sentence you hear from this strange gringo on the phone is in a language that you don’t understand, the first thing out ov your mouth should be ‘Sorry, I speak no English’. Don’t try to be clever and bluff your way thru a conversation, cos despite your sudden thirst for linguistic knowledge, it’s just not gonna work. Simply come clean, and admit that you haven’t a clue as to what I’m saying; that way, both ov us save time, and can move on with our lives.

I consider myself a thinking individual. If I were staying at a friend’s place in, say, Germany, and I was the only one in the house when the phone rang, would I answer it? No. Why not? Because for one, I don’t answer other peoples’ phones unless they specifically ask me to do so, and most importantly, I don’t know enough German to hold a conversation.
Now it could be argued that most ov the calls that non-English speakers make & receive are conducted in their native tongue, and the last thing they expect is someone phoning up and talking at them in English. Valid point, I grant you, but I can’t stand it when the person I’m calling feels the need to drag it out. Don’t keep asking me questions if you can’t understand my answers; it’s just that simple

(BTW, this is in no way railing against the Hispanic community, Spanish-speakers, or anyone who speaks English as a second language. I’m just railing against stupidity. If I had been brought up in Spain, spoke Spanish as my primary language, and was doing the exact same job I am now and getting the occasional English speaker, it’d be the same damn situation)