Don’t know if you’ve noticed

I’m blogging more. 

I think it’s that I’m not having to stay in idiot mode 8 – 10 hours a day.

I’m a week away from the company and I’m starting to think and create again. I’m still not sleeping well but each night is getting a little better.

I’m starting to feel a bit more normal and while I’m still kind of blue about not working and scared about the future and paying bills. At least I’m more “Me”.

I had to lobotomize myself every day in order to maintain control over my emotions and refrain from actually telling someone what I really thought.

Here are some of the top things I’d thought while dealing with whiny customers who wanted to rely on the victim card;

“Aren’t you precious”

“If you and you spouse both have this illness, why the fuck did you breed? How are you surprised that all four of your children have the same illness? Adopt! For fucks sake.”

“You might have better luck solving your problem by arranging bones in a pentagram on the floor and slaughtering a chicken. Probably won’t solve your problem but at least you’ll have something ready for dinner.”

“Okay, if you’re done being a victim, shall we solve your problem?”

“Given the way you just explained your problem, it’s obvious you haven’t a clue about how the device works or for that matter, how your illness works.”

“God! I’m sorry I’m circumventing Darwinism.”

“This is not magic, this is technology and it obeys a finite set of rules. What you have just described would only be possible in an alternate dimension. I don’t provide support to inter-dimensional beings.”

“No sir, that four digit number is not a serial number. A four digit number can only represent 9,999 units There are a lot more idiots than that using this product.”

“No ma’m I’m not minimizing your concern for your child. I do have serious questions about your intellect and fitness to be a parent.”

“Nope, I don’t give a shit that you’re pregnant, I didn’t put that bun in your oven and based on your behavior during this phone call I wouldn’t fuck you with a rancid donkey dick. I expect my women to be paragons of civility & virtue outside the bedroom, and whores inside the bedroom. You appear to be a bitch all the time. OH, and by the way… Use of this product is contraindicated during pregnancy.”

Thankfully, I managed to maintain my control. Otherwise my tenure would have been significantly shorter. That being said, perhaps brutal truth would have been more helpful in the long run.

In retrospect, it’s probably a damn good thing I didn’t go into medicine. My bedside manner would have been off-putting.

As it is, the few times in my life when I’ve provided technical support… (Essentially the same thing; listening to people bitch and whine,) I wasn’t very good at it.

It’s good to be un-lobotomized 24/7 again. It also feels really good to let the evil flow. It does beg a question.

Is it more evil to tell the brutal truth, or more evil to obfuscate an obvious truth?

Humm, gotta think about that one.