(N Calls)
Morning, all. I'm alone here on the switchboard, and (as always with phones) the phones are either ringing constantly or not at all. (4 calls just now.) Had a lovely weekend at my cottage -- lovely even though it rained most of Saturday and, though sunny, (2 calls) it was pretty cold all day Sunday. Good, though. (3 calls.) The tax department (4 calls, 5) is busy today. Mondays are busy, as are Fridays. Everyone seems to either want to call on a Friday afternoon before they forget and have to wait all weekend, or waited all weekend and want to get through to us on a Monday because they simply can't wait another second. And Monday's the day when half the calls seem to begin "I'm not sure who I want to talk to, but ..." I much (3 calls) prefer it when people know the extension. (1 call.) Oh, I so want to kick that guy's ass. (4 calls.) It seems that "Pardon me?" is an excuse to act like an asshole. Apparently because I couldn't understand his static-filled, spitting mumble (2 calls) that's an excuse to say every single word of that person's name, title and region as if they were followed by periods (1 call) in a most condescending voice. (Ooh, lost count that time. 8 calls? 9?) (Just lost count again. 7?) This is how my days go, people. This, waiting for lunch, waiting for breaks, waiting to go home. Chatting with the other switchboard gals (who are either on vacation or god knows where in this building right now), doing odd jobs. I can haul boxes with the best of them (1 call), even in a skirt. Which I've had to do (4 calls) and sort of enjoyed. (1 call.) There's (1 call) something amusing about me in my short jean skirt and tank top hauling boxes around the office. It's unexpected. However, next time I'm hauling boxes, I'm wearing jeans, dress code be damned.
Still no one else here. What on earth is going on? I feel lonely. I feel sort of hungry. Oooh, lunch is soon.
(6 calls.)
