Death, Taxes and the Non-Automated Phone Systems
There are only three things I am certain of in life. The first is that we will all eventually die. The second is that if you earn money, you will inevitably end up paying taxes at some point. The third is that I will get at least five phone calls during the course of my workday that were transferred to me in error.
If you are anything like me, your workday is full to capacity the moment you walk through the office door. I would say that it’s not that I don’t have a minute to spare, but in truth, I often really don’t. For this reason, and the annoyance factor of someone else’s mistake interrupting my work, I absolutely hate having calls transferred to me that are not meant for my ears. Of course, I am polite and courteous to the caller, as through no fault of their own they are now faced with yet another, “let me get you someone in accounting”, but it really makes me want to call someone at the main office and give the an expletive laced tirade that would make a sailor blush. You see, for every call transferred to me that should have gone somewhere else, I am forced to find “The Sheet”. “The Sheet”, as it were, is a piece of paper long ago placed in a plastic sleeve that has been written on, drowned in coffee, and just generally abused over it’s long life at my desk. Where it came from is anybody guesses, as is its approximate age. Since the company I work for has been in business since before the advent of the telephone, I will date “The Sheet” at approximately the time the plastic sleeve became available. First, I must find “The Sheet”, which on my desk involves a major excavation yielding precious finds so long ago forgotten that paleontologists would be jealous. After this massive effort is expended, I must undertake the dubious task of finding the extension (provided it exists on the sacred parchment) of the department the caller should have been transferred to in the first place. This is not an easy task as the information on “The Sheet” is about as current as the phrase “23 skidoo”. If the office Gods is smiling on me that particular day, I will have the caller transferred in about three to five minutes. If “The Sheet” can’t help me…I have to find the only thing older than the sheet in the building, which is the department secretary.
They say that to err is human, but to forgive is divine. I say to err IS human, so hopefully we can get an automated phone system and I can put “The Sheet” where it belongs…in the cylindrical file.