Work at its Worst
I work at a dispatch.
We handle all sorts of odd crime and criminals, let alone take care of maintenance companies’ emergency lines outside business hours. So calls and incoming data on the computers range from someone reporting of medical emergencies, assaults and burglary alarms to leaky toilets (we just ring a plumber, do the paperwork and are done with it) and handling the logistics that goes into making sure every 200-250 employee shows up at work during the day and if they don’t or call in sick, that we get a replacement.
My usual weekly work load ranges from 28 to 35 hours, except on some rare occasions based on my shift lists. So that’s why I was emotionally prepared to work 28 hours mon thru wed and then friday. Four days at the office. Not bad, I’d have Thursday off to sort out some insurance and mortgage related stuff, paperwork, do laundry, get me some direly needed work out in an olympic sized swimming pool at an outdoor stadium… Or to finally tackle the perpetual piles of dishes in a bachelor(ette)’s home, so my lady mother won’t freak again if she pops by for a surprise visit.
Anyways, starting on Monday at 0645, I was begged, bribed and finally dragged off to work early, since the day shift called in and said her kid is sick. Okay, so one shift, not bad, gonna get extra cash, not bad… not bad… Well… Then in the end, my 28 hours this week doubled, and I pulled five days worth of double shifts.
What was worse, I had the one cow colleague I can’t stand with me at dispatch three nights of the five. We are nine people who work there full time and are considered qualified for the job. Other people who can occasionally stand in for a few moments are my boss, his stand-in, the two shift planners who used to work dispatch years ago and then the CEO…
This one girl… To sum it up relatively nicely… that colleague works at 110% her capacity and that’s maybe 50-60% of what the rest of us do to make it through a day at work normally. She spends more time talking on her own phone than the work ones on her employer’s time, she’s not worth the respect of us working at 150% of our capacity to cover for her.
General annoyances aside, I still like my job. Kinda. I don’t want to do it for the rest of my life, but I am honestly not opposed to trudging along for a few more years by my desk and monitors at work to get myself through university and be able to start earning six figure numbers worth of wages… *ahem*
Sometimes full moons really raise the annoyance level to new spheres. Seriously new spheres. We for example get calls from a nice (but often drunk sounding) lady called Rebecca. She didn’t know who else to call, so she wants to talk to us about Jesus.
That’s like calling 911 and telling them you can’t find the remote for your television. We don’t really care when there’d be some real work to do.
Real Life Case Sample:
“Hey, the tv cut out, come and fix it!”
“Umm… Have you looked outside recently… sir? There’s a hurricane level storm blowing through your neighbourhood, there are over 300 trees fallen on streets, your nextdoor neighbour’s roof is missing and you’re complaining about a wonky antenna. How about you call us again tomorrow during business hours? Thank you!”
I feel bad for people like that. They don’t seem to be in touch with reality anymore. The Rebeccas and other nutcases and fruitcakes come out on strange nights, such as full moons, sometimes if we’re (un)lucky, blue moons.
And looks can be deceiving. We have more trouble trying to keep middle aged suburban housewives from the fancier part of town off our necks than the other extreme of the spectrum, have some junkies, alcoholics and otherwise mentally unbalanced individuals call us. Some of them can be rather nice sometimes.
At the end of the day, I take off my work clothes and go home. After a warm shower, all that stress is forgotten again and I can cuddle up with my cat and just be myself, enjoy a good book, hot chocolate and every now and then, write something about the zany chaos that is my daily life.