It is time, once more to enter the world of What I Meant to Say with Chiefy. I have been negligent in my MeMe participation of late and this is one of my faviest favs. Without further ado ...
Yesterday was a tough day. I was torn three new assholes (coz I needed more of those around).
Let me clear something up right here - I do not get told off by clients ... know why?? Because I do good work. Even people that I can not help aren't usually angry because they know in their hearts that I exhausted every possible avenue I could find before saying I couldn't do what they wanted.
This job sucks the marrow out of me lately and I am so sick to death of the myriad "BS" through which I must sift daily ... weekly ... monthly ... annually that I sometimes feel like over dosing on "Benefibre" and shitting myself to death (which I may or may not choose to do at Chiefs after her post today). Even still, I do my best to be the best darned purveyor of mortgage financing there evah wuz ... or at minimum - I try to provide good, trustworthy and personable service.
Enter Dirk Dickler. Let me just say (for those of you not following along) I hate this little douche-nozzle. This slimy piece of used car salesman excrement could pucker up and kiss my ass if I could just find a way for him to do it while maintaining a 50 meter perimeter around me. *shudders* He lies ... and cheats ... and panders ... and has a serious Napoleon complex. Dude has issues. 'Twas Dirk's clients - all three - that finally had enough of him not returning calls and not coming through with what he had promised that lashed out looking for the next person in command ... which truly isn't me - I have no power at all (except when excrement and fan-like devices are involved ... then it's all me, baby).
This was how I wound up spending my valuable time (which might have been spent performing my own do-it-yourself appendectomy) listening to THREE SEPARATE TALES OF WOE .... which promptly turned into fits of rage when they realized that the information given them from the onset was utterly FALSE (bravado - if I may interject). Below is an excerpt of ONE such conversation.
What I said:
Ma'am (I didn't really use Ma'am as it is something that infuriates me, but I really shouldn't call her crazy phone lady ... ah, what the hay) CrazyPhoneLady (see, it loses sincerity), I understand your frustration (between fits of expletives headed my way) with the situation, and I apologize for the experience you have had to this point, but I have your file now and I may be able to (insert what she wants) if you allow me an opportunity to try. (She didn't want me to fix it - she just wanted to scream at my ear for a little longer.)
Crazy Phone Lady, please stop using the "F word" as a noun, verb and adverb and at least stick to the more common adjective usage. Now, Dirk ... yeah, well he's a douche-nozzle and if you didn't pick that up in a 30 second conversation - shame on you, dumb-ass. He slithers when he talks and has a forked tongue - what did you expect? Yeah - you're educated ... didn't pick up the stench of BS wafting from his personage, didja?? Get bent.
So ... there ya'll have it ... another day in the life.
Stay tuned for Confessions with Glamazon on Friday when I disclose the location of Dirk's various body parts ... I don't have to touch him to kill him, right??