Today work was amazingly shit, to the point I got stressed, not a little, but near homicidal.  But speaking of homicide, yesterday NatWest called me, repeatedly.  How I hate outbound call centres, they randomly spread their seed all over the telephone network, dial more numbers than people can handle and then put the phone down when the obvious human to line equasion can’t be fulfilled.

NatWest did this thrice and when they finally stopped putting the phone down on me, I get “it appears we called you in error”.  It’s a bit unfortunate I’m not legally allowed to go in to my branch and decree “I have bashed in your skull in error” before calmly walking away as if nothing ever had happened.

Alas, as be life, speaking of such, I think my best venomous phrase of the day had to be “well I wish I could throw my fucking toys out of the pram too” before litterally throwing my toys (read: pen) out of the pram (read: upon my bastard computer).  Which so far is a mere runner up to my stab at lack of contactable numbers for an individual: “I tried X, couldn’t obtain, as I don’t exactly have a plethora of numbers to choose from here”.  When I do something, I do it with style, although it wasn’t really the orginial person’s fault for this, but oh how it flowed upon the job notes with such ease.

Right now, I’m sat here in front of a screen in the dark, but just not on the phone.  Déjà-vu.

Originally published at Кевин.com.ua. You can comment here or there.

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