A Gasp of Air

Like Sandman in Spiderman 3, I rise from the all smothering sand.

So call center work is soul draining, but easy as hell. Fortunately, my center pays decent, so I’ll stick with it. There are some good bits, and bad bits.

My main problem is that there’s a lot of fear mongering about your stats. All the time. There’s a lot of work about doing things right and making good business decisions for a certain service provider. It’s not something I’m used to. I’ve worked in 120 degrees in a nest of copperheads for no pay, and I handled that better than this stuff. There’s something terrible about the spirit there. Something down at the core. The coworkers are, to use their lingo, petty, and there’s just a lot of boredom in between frantically taking calls as quickly as I can. The stats that matter will improve, but damn, I hate having to spend 30 minutes on a call that should take 20 or less.

The good is the pay and the bark is worse than the bite. There the little old ladies you can help. There’s the schadenfreude from telling a person that no, you can’t have a free phone, because they don’t grow on trees and someone has to pay. I’m also learning some great phone talk techniques and the all important skill of maintaining frame. Social skills that are some of the measures of true alpha. Where as before I might cower before a screamer (I’m skittish against loud noises naturally) before, now, all of a sudden, I’m calmly explaining why they’re being charged for going over their data. It’s kind of impressive.

But there is still the greatest problem in the background, the soul drain. What doe that mean? This is the first legit thing I have written in a while, why? What about that job prevents my higher, potent creative functions? The job is wrote, the job promotes laziness. There are a thousand little things that take out the potential for creativity. And what’s more, it makes me want to not create.

That’s a danger of the modern world. It’s not healthy. If I spend much of my brain power figuring this stuff out and dealing with the stress of dealing with a random problem every 10 to 30 minutes or there about, I must put more effort into creation. I’ve got the spark, and I need to cultivate into something of great value. I can’t waste myself gaining resentment over this stupid job.

If I resent, I’ll have to deal with stress, nausea, anger and being unable, even to be half of what I could be. I was so angry I kicked open a locked door. It was only magnetically sealed, thank God, but it was still a reaction based on what I was feeling, rather than some reality. Job’s easiest I’ve ever had. I’ll spend my time sitting in an ergonomic chair, talking to people who, as long as I put in mediocre service, will keep me hired.  But it’s pretty damn empty.

I’m going to work harder, and in this way stave off the  cold, creative death. Sometimes, in the manosphere, you read these guys who put the effort in so that it’s now habit. I have to cultivate that in myself. I’m not some sort of MMO tank capable of taking the damage the world gives me. The scars add up. I’ve taken shit, as have so many others, but it was always passive acceptance, like I didn’t have a choice. The path of the tank leads to failure. Something I have to remember.

Of course, the real choices are obvious. I must find new work. I must publish before this year is up. The blood must be enriched by exercise. So on, so forth. Old wisdom of those who go before. It feels more real now, than in college where things don’t matter and time is both limitless and the deadline come unexpected. I miss it, because it was easier.

Expect more. More reviews for books, anime and movies, excerpts from my own writings, historical interpretations and reactions to only the choicest articles. I will not break down and go and sacrifice creativity on the altar of comfort.

And at work? Who gives a shit anymore? It’s call center work, after all. I’ll give a shit about the clients and no one else. See how far I go. I’ve got a terrible Hawaiian shirt on, unbuttoned, and it’s pretty damn comfy. Got some bills, but afterwards thinking of getting some weights and working out while I take the calls.

Post script: I’ll be going down to Kansas City sunday for another big tourney. Time to win this thing. Pity set 14 ain’t as cool as the next one. The next one sets my teeth on edge and raises my bloodlust at the thought of what I could face. But that’s for another article, farther along.

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