How Eve Online prepared me for the call center life…
You may have heard about Eve Online or it may have escaped your attention. It’s the kind of MMO to which you devote your life or you don’t play it in the first place. The learning curve for the game is akin to climbing Olympus Mons while holding your breath and hopping on one foot. In short, it’s a lovely game.
The people in the game are even lovelier. You know that scene in Episode IV where they visit Mos Eisely for the first time and Obi WanÃ‚Â describes it as a hive of scum and villainy? This is the entire galaxy of Eve Online. It’s one huge gangbang of the world’s worst griefers, scammers, hooligans, ne’er do wells, and all around twisted mofos. As I said, love game and lovely players and I adore them so very much even though I’m retired.
I played Eve-O for a decade, between June 2003 to around December-ish 2013. In that time I was ganked, spanked, poked, prodded, podded, hot dropped, and fucked with on a daily basis. I loved every minute of it. I was a pirate. I was a spy. I was a hitman. I was a miner. I was an explorer. I covered the map in my time.
I said all that to get to this…never has a game better prepared me for life in a call center. You see, people call into call centers every single goddamn day and they berate people because they are powerless and, frankly, too stupid to operate the products they own. It might be a computer, it might be a website, it might be a fucking remote control. The point is that people are dumb and they want to take out their anger at themselves due to their own inherent stupidity on other people.
They demand that their items be fixed. They demand discounts. They demand free stuff. (Everyone knows you only get free stuff if the other person quits.) They want you to offer up your humanity and your soul because they didn’t get to watch the finals of [insert stupid fucking reality show here]. I’ve seen a lot of agents on the phones get kinda stressed out about this. I, however, being a veteran of Eve know one simple truth that allows me to take it all in and that truth is this…
Your tears are quite delicious. I sit and laugh at the angry people because they don’t even realize they’re freaking out about a bunch of ones and zeroes or random waves percolating through their meaty flesh giving them cancer tubes in their nether bits. Yes, I know you’ve put a lot of work into whatever knobby-kneed piece of shite you’ve thrown out there or you’re in the middle of a Martha Stewart masturbation marathon but I have to tell you there is no shortage of times I’ve put you on mute just so I can soak in all the goodness of the high art of trolling that you’re doing to yourself. In short, your pleas for understanding by treating me like a piece of shit fall on deaf ears but I am sustaining my soul on your turmoil.
Let’s be real here…you being pissed off and yelling at someone that makes minimum wage or slightly better makes you feel good inside because in your everyday, normal, boring ass life you have no power. Your boss tells you to do whatever the fuck they want you to do. You wife/husband/uncle-brother is severely disappointed in the fact that you have the sexual skills and prowess of a drunk hobo being molested by an angry gorilla. (We miss you Harambe.) Your kids hate you because you didn’t get them whatever doo-dad they want. Oh yeah, your dog also shit in your shoe. Life is one big fuck you in the ass federal prison and you’re the only inmate.
I get it. I understand. Your life sucks so you want to yell at someone that can’t do anything back because you’re a coward and won’t stand up for yourself in real life. You have some serious self-image issues and your confidence is shit because you have a pathetic life that doesn’t amount to much. Aren’t you super fucking happy you decided to get that Bachelors in Business WhoGivesAFuck? Yeah, you are.
I’m here to tell you a secret, though. Yeah, you ruffle our feathers sometimes. You occasionally make us wish we could reach through the phone and strangle the shit out of you. What you turn into is a joke, though. You throw a fit like a spastic five-year-old and we tell the story later after we’ve had our orgies and done all the drugs and have gone to all the parties you want to go to because you are a joke to us. That’s what makes the tears so delicious. You think you’re important and you’re really not. Harsh, yeah? Think about that the next time you call. We laugh at you and your sad, pathetic existence.
Never stop calling and spewing your conspiracy theory bullshit, though. Never stop telling us that you’re the boss and the customer is always right. Never stop taking your shit out on us. If you do, then what will I thrive on? Your tears are so goddamn delicious.
To end this piece, I give to you an oath to remember. For all those people out there that have to listen to the incessant prattle of the herds of plebes as they clamor for meaning in their life, this is for you:
Give me your hate to power my heart. Give me your panic to focus my mind. Give me your righteous tears above all, so that I may feast like a king. In the end, I shall win. In the end, we shall begin. Meow kitty, giddyup.
Fly safe out there. o7
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