To Whom it May Concern,
Taking one minute out of your online poker game to talk to your girlfriend that you only see 2 days a week and haven't really talked to all day long (when you used to call her at least 10 times a day) is NOT too much to ask, even if you do lose your seat at the table. IT'S ONLINE POKER. A new game would start by the time you finished asking me how my day went (which you didn't by the way.) That fucking sucks.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Reasons why I hate Wachovia
1. They hire the dumbest people with the most condescending voices to answer the customer service line and repeat the same sentence over and over using slightly different words by way of explanation.
2. These retardly stupid people can't answer a question unless they have their script in front of them--does it bother anyone else that this drooling idiot has control of and actual access to my money?
3. The on-hold music is awful... not just awful, but self-mutilation-inducing-awful, as I'd enjoy carving musical notes into my upper thigh more than listening to that fucking saxophone for 3 minutes.
4. The customer service people are quite possibly the LEAST helpful people I have ever spoken to or tried to get an answer from.
5. Wachovia must have inserted phrases like "you know" into their script to make their speech sound more spontaneous and less like a 2nd grader reading. It doesn't work. The "you knows" sound completely planted, which makes me think those script writers are morons too (which wouldn't be surprising in the least) or the Customer Service Representative really IS retarded, in which case I would applaud their dedication to helping disabled people. Just don't let the retard near my money, fucker.
6. They're shady. Banks are shady. Supposedly they've given us ways to track what they're doing--online banking, for example. But when I checked my bank balance at MIDNIGHT, what I saw was totally different than what greeted me at 9 this morning. I asked why but my ears started bleeding when I got a repeated Not-an-answer and I couldn't listen anymore.
That's it. I'm taking my money out of the bank, stashing it under my mattress and faking my own death so the IRS won't get me. I see no other way to exist without having to deal with a bank. (However, I did finally open a Savings Account, so that might cut down on my having to deal with Customer No-Service. The Fuckers.)
2. These retardly stupid people can't answer a question unless they have their script in front of them--does it bother anyone else that this drooling idiot has control of and actual access to my money?
3. The on-hold music is awful... not just awful, but self-mutilation-inducing-awful, as I'd enjoy carving musical notes into my upper thigh more than listening to that fucking saxophone for 3 minutes.
4. The customer service people are quite possibly the LEAST helpful people I have ever spoken to or tried to get an answer from.
5. Wachovia must have inserted phrases like "you know" into their script to make their speech sound more spontaneous and less like a 2nd grader reading. It doesn't work. The "you knows" sound completely planted, which makes me think those script writers are morons too (which wouldn't be surprising in the least) or the Customer Service Representative really IS retarded, in which case I would applaud their dedication to helping disabled people. Just don't let the retard near my money, fucker.
6. They're shady. Banks are shady. Supposedly they've given us ways to track what they're doing--online banking, for example. But when I checked my bank balance at MIDNIGHT, what I saw was totally different than what greeted me at 9 this morning. I asked why but my ears started bleeding when I got a repeated Not-an-answer and I couldn't listen anymore.
That's it. I'm taking my money out of the bank, stashing it under my mattress and faking my own death so the IRS won't get me. I see no other way to exist without having to deal with a bank. (However, I did finally open a Savings Account, so that might cut down on my having to deal with Customer No-Service. The Fuckers.)
Monday, August 01, 2005
Sweet Little Monkeys
Our Promo Team!!
Here we are... aren't we cute? This was from our dinner with the Big Bosses. They took us out to make us like them so we'd stop asking them for stuff that they promised us months ago... no, I'm sure their intentions were pure... but the whole experience was a little like watching monkeys in the zoo. Except we were the monkeys. Dinner was great... we went to this fantastic restaurant in Atlanta called Rathbuns. It's in the middle of nowhere--thank God Google gives perfect directions. Anyway... back to work.
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