Toyland

In addition to my job as a pizza delivery man, which I wrote about a while back, I am now temping for the holiday season at a toy company. The name of the company shall remain nameless, but one of their items is pictured at left. They have a large warehouse and offices near my home, and I will be working at the customer service call center through the early months of next year.

Relatively speaking, it's not a difficult job. Whenever I get stressed, I have to remind myself I'm not outside laying asphalt. But, as with many jobs that deal with the public, my eyes are opened as to just how despicable humanity can be.

The people I work with are lovely--they have been very patient, and in disputes with customers they invariably take the employee's side. The customer, I have learned, is not always right. And you would be amazed how horrible customers can be. One left a message for one of my female colleagues, three words: "Punk ass bitch." We play that aloud to lighten the mood.

Most customers who call are fine. They know what they want and it's a smooth transaction. But what possesses people to call up without any idea of what they want to order? Surely the knowledge that almost all commerce is transacted via computers, and therefore everything has a number, has filtered through to these people. Yet there are those who call up with a vague idea of what they want, and expect me to spend valuable time looking things up for them. I spent over a half hour on the phone with a woman who wanted spare parts, but did not have the numbers. Her purchase was about nine dollars.

Of course there are the standard gripes. If something is broken, there is a heartbroken grandchild to go along with it. I was raised not to expect anything--I was the opposite of spoiled. We will ship replacement parts free of charge, but as a parent I would take the opportunity to teach a life lesson--sometimes things don't turn out perfectly. Also, when we have to tell people that something is out of stock or discontinued, they often seem to take it as a personal insult.

And, as I learned from delivering pizzas that Indians don't tip, I have also learned that this particular toy company has a big following among Jews in Brooklyn (I don't know for sure, but judging by their accents I assume that they are Hasidim). They are very particular, and, unfortunately living up to the stereotype, will fight over pennies. They will ask, for no particular reason, for free shipping. They will ask to extend sales that are no longer in place. Stereotypes are nasty things, and for someone like me, who has tried to resist them all my life, when they smack of the truth its disturbing.

It's only December 1st now, but the holiday gift buying is in full swing. It will get worse, especially when we have to tell people that we can't guarantee shipping by Christmas. It seems that when it comes to child's play, people can get very serious.

One final note: I am grateful for the paycheck, and also grateful this particular company has not outsourced their call center to India. One friend suggested I use an Indian accent just to fuck with people.