[Epilogue]

SO, with my market research journey coming to a timely end I feel this blog has also reached its natural conclusion. I’d like to say a big thanks to everyone who’s followed, read and commented, it means a lot to me. I’ve enjoyed writing it and if you’ve enjoyed reading it then it’s all been hunky dory. Who knows if I shall ever find employment again, but if I ever wind up in another call centre then there’s always the possibility of chapter two (I hope there never will be). Barring that slice of misfortune falling upon my plate I shall bid you all farewell…

Farewell!

I Quit

I’m home now. It’s 12:32. Earlier I was at work. Now I’m unemployed.

At 9AM I dragged my slumbering carcass out of bed and made my confused and dizzied walk to National Research in the heart of town, passing hoards of people scavenging loot from the early weekend shops. With each face I passed, each family man with wife and children, each wrinkled pensioner, each group of young chavs, each solemn shop assistant and each hard-faced, bloated wheeler-dealer,  I could see and hear the people who will be slamming their phones down on me later with angry curses and derisions.

I don’t blame them, but it’s been getting under my skin. My mind can’t keep it’s stronghold barricaded anymore. People’s venom has seeped and trickled into my veins (to be dramatic).

As I took my seat at my sound-dampened cubicle, saw my previous week’s lagging stats, heard the familiar whir, click, beep, silence… silence… and ring of my computer dialling out, dread fell over me.

‘Can I quit? Simply quit… I don’t want to be one of those people who runs away when it gets hard. And I need work. I need money and I need  the toil.’ As each call washed over me, as each person rejected my invitation to complete a survey, this argument chased its tail across my skull, from temple to temple:

‘But I’m becoming cynical. The milk of human kindness can only be spat into my face so many times…’

‘But maybe I’ll feel the same with any job: I’ll feel pulled and corrupted by numbers and targets; I’ll feel disdain towards the ‘general public’. Oh how I’ve come to loathe them…’

‘Or is this just an excuse to quit? To be lazy. I’m working a reasonably bearable and reasonably well paid job…’

‘Maybe I’ll find something better…’

‘Maybe not…’

‘… But actually, no! Fuck it! I’m young. Rolling the dice might not pay off, but I’m young. Young enough to be able to act first and work out later if I was wrong. Young enough to say ‘Fuck this shit!’

The time was 11.57. Three minutes till first break. I stood up, walked out, and never plan to go back again.

I seem to call this person everyday…

“Can you send it by post?”

– Well, as much as we’d like to sit tentatively by the post box for months as you line your rubbish bin with our survey… “We do only conduct these by telephone I’m afraid.”

“Well thing is I don’t answer any questions over the phone.” – Oh I didn’t realise. Apparently this man converses in nothing but pure statements. Questions have become obsolete for him. His family have learnt never to ask how his day was, or what the weather was like else they be brazenly shot-down as the vulgar wretches they are. I should get with the times really…