Chapter 11– Roger Mellie
Around this time I'd taken time off work sick. When I got back my work offered me 4 weeks work in the mail-room. This was the answer to my prayers. A way out of the hell of the call centres hell. And most importantly, in my mind, a way to get rid of this depression thingie. I immediately accepted and did a victory lap around the room. I arrived for my first day eager as a Cheshire cat.
My good mood lasted approximately five minutes. Within ten I knew that this wasn't the answer to my prayers.
Despite the fact I'd been told weeks in advance, it was clear that no one there had a fucking clue who I was or what I was doing there. I was stuck in the corner and left there. Nobody told me what to do or even acknowledged my presence. When it became abundantly clear that this wasn't going to change, I took it apon myself myself to ask for some work.
It also became clear quickly that there was no one of authority in the place. People did what they liked and came and went as they pleased. The cast of characters in there was like a whos who of human crap. There was one guy in particular who made my jaw drop with his outrageously unprofessional behaviour. I nicknamed him Roger Mellie
What, no fans of Viz up in this bitch?
Our usual shift was 7 till 3. Roger usually turned up about 8 and left around 2 most days. One memorable day he turned up at 11 and left at 1. When he did grace us with his presence, he never actually did any work. He spent most of his days kicking a football about the office. One time he and another fella had a full blown screaming match in full view of the entire office. They genuinely almost came to blows. The strangest of all was that nobody batted an eyelid. They just kept on working like this was perfectly normal behaviour.
Meanwhile there was one poor girl who was desperately trying to keep this sinking ship afloat. She was there when I arrived and was still there when I left every day without fail. I heard she wouldn't regularly pull 14 hour shifts. The poor cow was killing herself and no one seemed to give a rats arse. One day she dissapeared early and didn't return for a few days. I'd heard through the grapevine that she'd went to management and broke down in tears over the state of the place. She was the only one I had any respect for.
After this, a manager finally appeared to keep an eye on things. Unfortunately she didn't have a fucking clue how the mail-room worked, but at leat she kept some kind of order. By a huge co-incidence Roger started showing up on time and actually working. Poor workaholic girl finally got to go home at 3.
Eventually, the real manager showed up. It turned out she'd been on annual leave. It give me brief hope that things would improve, but that didn't last long when I continued to be left to rot, ignored in a corner. None of them could be arsed to train me, so I was left to do the same mind numbingly monotonous stuff all day every day.
When the 4 weeks were up, I was delighted. Hell, I was even happy to be back on the phones.
I was given some feedback from the mail room staff. When I heard it, I laughed out loud. It was either that or have a nervous breakdown. They basically badmouthed me, saying I spend all day skivving on Wikipedia and taking longer breaks and lunches than I should. I think I spent five minutes on Wikipedia one day, and I might have been late back from breaks the odd time, but it was purely accidental. Considering the source, these people had some nerve.
What a fucking joke the whole debacle was.
As for the big question? How was the depression during this time? Had the black dog been put down? Nope. He was barking just as loudly as ever. For the first time, I began to seriously consider that maybe there was more to this depression malarkey than work.