Anyway, this much maligned and misunderstood condition means I'm in no mood for the idiocy of others and have decided to allow myself full rein to moan about anything that takes my fancy.
* The guy sitting behind me in work. You are not an opera singer. I am not an opera fan. Let's make these two facts work together.
* Customers who don't read your emails, then call, ask you for an update, then ask you to put it in an email. What, like the email I just read that update from that was sent to you three days ago and you didn't read? Like THAT email?
* My right nostril. You have surprisingly little to do in life. Remain fairly unclogged, catch germs and smell things. You are currently failing on all three points. Sort it out.
* People on Facebook (or the internet in general) who can't spell, have little knowledge of or respect for the rules of grammar, WRITE IN CAPITALS, and write long status updates of utter drivel, which I'm forced to read because my brain tells me that something that long must have an interesting conclusion. Seriously. You just made me make an effort to be bored by you. Pack that shit right in.
* Anybody who calls my work phone 2 minutes before I'm due to leave. Most of the people who call the call centre I work in are calling from the call centre they work in. Given that most people's shifts begin and end at 7 or 8 am, why would they subject another human to the teeth-grinding fury that comes from having to regain the will to be helpful when their brain is already on the train home? And don't give me that "different time zones" crap. At any given moment, I can tell you the time in UTC, CET and EST, at the very least. And I time my calls accordingly. I don't call New York at 11pm CET, because I don't hate my customers. It would be nice if they could return the courtesy. Even if they do hate me, which they shouldn't. I'm actually lovely to them. Even at 06:58 CET.
OK, that was a lie. And unreasonable. But you know what? Today, I don't care.
Ooh, I feel better now!
|My work desk. Note the tissues - the reason for the rage. I'm usually a little ray of sunshine, honest.|