Showing posts with label call centre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label call centre. Show all posts

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Grumpy Old Twat Internet Deniers

Rather entertainingly, and totally without warning, I lost my broadband connection yesterday (and I still don't have it back). Never fear though, I thought, a quick call to those well informed and helpful people in Mumbai, or some such fucking shithole, and I'll soon have it all sorted.

Yeah right.

Oh for fuck's sake you mongtard, I know what the fucking weather is like in the UK and no I haven't changed any of my settings or fucked about with my router ..... just FIX MY FUCKING BROADBAND SUPPLY! "Ahh, OK sir .... I see what the problem is now ..... there is a fault at our end, which our technical department seem to be aware of, and we are trying to fix the problem as soon as we can." Oh, OK then, so how long will it take? "It will all be up and running again within 7 to 10 days"

*long silence*

*deep breath*

SEVEN-TO-TEN-FUCKING-DAYS!!!!


Fortunately, thanks to TheEye, I had in my possession an emergency phrase in Hindu* which he assured me would be most useful if such a situation were ever to arise ..... "Mein teri maa ko teri bhen ki choot mein chodoonga aur tera baap laltern lekar aayega", I said.

The line went dead.

So, until I can get those useless broadband fucking ISP fucktards to fix whatever the fuck it is they've fucked ... I'm fucked .... apart from a dingly dangly dongle thing which I pinched from a loved one, which means I can get some sort of sporadic connection to the internet, depending on whether Pigsy can be arsed to stand on one leg, on a stool, waving aforementioned dongle (via a USB extension lead) outside of the spare bedroom window. Assuming the big fuck off Yew trees aren't swaying in the wind and blocking the fucking signal, of course, and that I don't need her to fetch me another bottle of red.

Meanwhile, I can still pick up your emails and post comments via the TwatBerry device and those of you who are awaiting replies to emails, bear with me and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I'll also be trying to reply to all your post comments too ;-)


Also. many thanks to everyone who ran with, and linked to, that Richard Curtis video I posted yesterday ..... it seems to have been very popular. Good. The fucking eco fascist 10:10 terrorist twats! Hey .... you don't think that ...... no ..... surely not ...... they wouldn't do that would they? Hmmm, the mongtard in Mumbai was a bit fucking sketchy about why my broadband service had been totally disconnected .... and they were having to re-supply me from scratch.

Well then, just in case I'm not being paranoid, I'd better give you these handy new blog sidebar graphics while I still can .....




Now where's that tin foil hat ......



*translation available here


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Tuesday, 24 August 2010

How To Deal With Sales Calls

A BT rep makes an unsolicited sales call to a Grumpy Old Twat.

Oh dear ......




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Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Grumpy Old Twat Doesn't Like .....

....... automated voice mail messaging services with it's press 1 for this and press 2 for fucking that and they never seem to have the selection that you really, really want. However, I recently came across an educational one that is a tad better than the usual bollocks .......


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Wednesday, 27 January 2010

Prime Minister To Be Outsourced

Following hot on the heels of the recent news about Obama it appears, as with almost all trends, that the UK is about to follow suit. This report from the Times Online website. . .

click image to enlarge



Special thanks to MicroDave
for the excellent copywriting ;-)

Friday, 12 June 2009

Call Centres. Aren't They Great!

Yeah right, like her name really is Tracey.

It's no wonder they put these call centres in another continent, is it?.  It's because when their employers fuck up your internet access and you have to resort to wasting your fucking time with endless calls to these so called 'customer-fucking-service-fucktard-advisors', all you want to do is throttle the fuckers. They don't listen, they stick rigidly to a bollocksy-fuck-wank of an inane script, written by a complete twat, and above all haven't got a fucking clue how to really help you.

All they CAN guarantee to do is to completely fuck you up until the blood vessels in your eyes start to pop. Then when they tell you they can't do anything to help you "at this moment in time", they have the brass neck to fucking well ask you . . . 

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

Fuck off!
Just fuck the fucking fuckety fuck, fuck off!

That is all.

Sunday, 23 November 2008

Easy Like A Sunday Morning

I should be so fucking lucky! 
England are getting thrashed in the 4th ODI cricket against India (no change there then!). 
Thank fuck it's raining there at the moment so we might get away with a draw! Don't bother ringing any call centres today 'cos all those muppets from Bangalore are at the ground, jumping up and down like a load of twats everytime India score! Press 3 to nuke the whole fucking lot of them I say.
Pissing with rain here too, so needless to say that fucking cat has just come in and dumped another load of toxic waste. That'll be my nostrils fucked again!
Put the radio on and was confronted with the new Tom Jones single . . . what the fuck is that all about? Its about time that old fart knocked it on the head. Who wants to see some 110 year old has been from the valleys, still thrusting his leather clad, lump of coal filled crotch at anything with tits. Its fucking disgusting!
Turned the radio off, put the cricket back on, still fucking raining!
Bollocks!