I have got ten minutes before I have to head back to the office. I’m sitting on my arse in the middle of the woods. There was a large stone I was planning on sitting on but somebody was actually napping on it. Rather annoying – I like to imagine I’m all alone in the middle of the wilderness. Now I’ve just been interrupted by a dog-walker! Ugh! But there is some sort of bird-of-prey flying above (a hawk?) and I’m ecstatic! Nature!
There was a team meeting today in which all the manager talked about was “EPH”, office lingo for “emails per hour”. We’re all supposed to be doing at least 8 emails per hour. I’ve barely never hit that goal which is sort of OK – for now – because I’m the CSAT Queen (customer satisfaction, that is). I’m the slowest person on the team by far, especially now since we’ve switched to doing German emails. It’s not my native language, and so writing in German just takes longer.
We are supposed to send out “cans” to customers, i.e. “canned responses”, which we customise accordingly. I’m slow because I tailor my responses as much as humanly possible. You may laugh but, in my own small way, I feel that I’m striking a blow against Capitalism. No, I will not be a fucking robotic, personality-less customer service agent; no, dear customer, you are not just some anonymous person I don’t give a fuck about. We are both people, goddamnit, and i will treat you as such. If Mrs Cooper enquires about her order, and mentions her bunions, I will ask about her bloody bunions, and hope she’s OK!
I wonder how long I can get away with being so slow? My days might be numbered.