One of Those Days . . . . Again

You know, as the week progresses, my thoughts of murder keep getting more prevalent. I swear I could kill someone right now. Might be you. Watch your back. But seriously, why do I keep talking to the same morons. Customers that just don't get the "NO FREE PHONE SUPPORT" that is in their service agreements. Customers that when asked "Can I have your client number", they respond with "Do you mean my user name/password/social security number/height & weight/size of my last bowel movement?" NO MOTHERFUCKER! Your client number. I am speaking fucking Chinese? Do I look like Rosie O'Donnell. I could have sworn there were no "Ching-chongs" in my question to you . . . fuck-hole.

And it's only Wednesday. It doesn't get any better than this until the weekend, which is still a painful 2 days away. I'm not sure I can make it. I've felt like this before, and I have been able to make it, but today . . . I'm not so sure. While I'm typing this I can see the phone queue keep accumulating calls. And I know that every single one of those calls will be some stupid motherfucker that has no business anywhere within 100 yards from a computer. These people truly need take a trip back in time and hang out with Neanderthals . . . because spending some time with their intellectual equals might be a welcome change of pace for them. I know it would be a welcome change of pace for me . . . because I wouldn't have to deal with them anymore.

*Sigh* Rant over. Jaime has been fully vented. Anger levels dissipating . . . but they're still there. Next call determines wether I kill one of the wonder twins or not.