My daily travails with the world
Would go so much better
If I didn’t have to deal with idiots
At every twisting turn,
But it’s become a routine
Of roulette wheel indecency
Every time I pick up the phone
To ask after a particular service,
And depending upon whatever
Time of day it is in whichever
Part of the world I’m connected to,
And whomever I’m speaking with,
I can either be put indefinitely on hold
Or told I should have called them
Yesterday and they would have
Had it fixed by just about now.
Still it’s not as if I’ve got anything
More rewarding to do with my time
Than sit on the end of a line
And listen to dismissive music,
Now is it? Or for that matter
Pass another hour scouring
The internet for the direct number
Of a multi-national company.
And after making first contact
With the fractured voices
Of choice-less employment
I’m left to ponder the possibility
That it’s probably my own fault,
As it seems that the only reason
I have a cell phone at all is so I
Can call and complain for free.
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