You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘stupid pepsi’ category.

Monday I had no ambition. To be honest, my ambition at Stupid Pepsi has been waning considerably over the past couple months. I sigh heavily a lot more, I actually read trashy magazines while taking orders, and encourage people to leave me on hold so I don’t have to do work, but look like I’m working. I roll my eyes at my computer–regularly.

Monday, I seriously considered walking out, which I have never done. I wanted to grab my purse, and leave,not clean up after myself at all, and never come back. I don’t know what was made that day some much worse than usual–no one was rude to me, the calls were slow enough that I still made it through OK magazine in about an hour–but nothing made me happy. I managed to convince myself, like I always do, that being more poor would make me sadder than staying at Stupid Pepsi; and I toughed it out by taking extremely long breaks and drinking a lot of crappy cappuccino from the “cafĂ© diem” machine.

Then something amazing happened.

Around 1:15 I was giving myself a pep-talk and blowing on cappuccino number 3 or 4 to cool it off when I realized that someone was standing behind my suite (cubicle). It was Kristy, the trainer, the girl with the most nasal voice I’ve ever heard in my life who is always perky but in the most insincere way possible though I don’t ever doubt that she means it. Weird. Anyway, she asked if a trainee could sit with me. I must have made a horrified face because she quickly assured me that I would merely listen while he made the calls for me.

So I managed to get out of an hour of work and all I had to do was sit next to an overeager guy who smelled like a sweaty cigarette, and listen to him tell me about this book he almost wrote once and about his home theater–so preferable to making calls. I would have listened to this guy tell me about his first time if it meant I wouldn’t have to call any more accounts and say “I see you do well with your regular Pepsi, we also have available the Wild Cherry Pepsi, which is our most popular flavored cola and does very well in your area. Would you like to add on a case of that today to increase your profits?”

The really fascinating thing about the whole experience was the way the kid tried. He was using the stupid notecards we had to make in training class, he mentioned the “penny-profits” formula, he upsold every damn call and seemed genuinely upset when people declined his offers. It was bizarre.

The only reason I upsell is to avoid getting into trouble thus furthering my quest to be left alone. This kid was all about it, and it was awful to have to listen to. He talked forever; he just kept going and people listened politely while I sat behind him and probably looked horrified. I thought no wonder people are rude to me, if I had to listen to that crap every week I’d be a total asshole. The trainee assured me when he sat down that he sucked at this job, so I thought we were kindred spirits–but no more.

Then he started hitting on me, staring at my modest chest and assuring me that “Maybe Jessica Simpson is beautiful, but I need more than just a pretty face”.

It was still preferable to making calls.

This week I’ve been very good. Of course, its only Tuesday so I may be getting ahead of myself. Both today and Monday I worked at stupid Pepsi at 8am. Normally I would roll out of bed around 7:10, brush my teeth, stab my contacts into my eyes, and yank on something business casual in time to leave by 7:35. These past two days I’ve gotten out of bed at 6 (ish), showered, had a whole pot of coffee rather than grabbing a cup at a drive through, all while watching The West Wing and checking email.

Now I’m bursting with energy and a will to get things done. I have a to-do list burning a hole in my brain, but I’m stuck at stupid Pepsi wasting my ambition and waxing melodramatic about all of the things I could be doing that aren’t selling soda on the phone. This is most likely false ambition fueled by coffee meaning I’m closing in very quickly on a crash. I may try to shine it on with some more coffee from the scary machine in the breakroom, but even in my current mania I know that’s just an empty gesture.

I have a paper star festooned with streamers hanging above my desk that sometimes hits me in the face as I sit down in my chair on particularly sleepy mornings. One side has the Pepsi logo on it and the other side has the quote “Some people are born great, others achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon ’em.” I’m pretty sure, it has been a while so I’m not positive, when Shakespeare wrote that he spelled out the word “them.” Also, I have this star hanging above desk because my Quality Assurance score is over 101% really dont associate that with greatness.

Maybe I’m yearning for a more idealistic, simpler time that never existed or didn’t exist in my lifetimebut remember when the word great meant something? When you’d read about people in history who’d done amazing things, get a little chill, and think “someday I’m going to be great.” Great capital G, boldface, underlined and in a slightly larger font.

Sitting in my cubicle, I do not feel great even though I have been pronounced it. Of course, all I have to do to have greatness abruptly yanked from my life is to start sucking at my job, but I won’t do that cause I’m great.

Yesterday I spoke to a man on the phone named Cum. I had him spell it for me. Customer care for Pepsi Americas dictates that we have to say the customer’s name twice. I tried to say it quickly with my mouth mostly closed so it sounded like cmmm.

I don’t know why stuff like this still surprises me. I’ve had an old man–I believe his name was Earl or something like that– ask me for 20 minutes of hot lovin’; I took an order from a guy named Urine (yoor-een); I’ve had a conversation with two thickly-accented, frantic Indian guys at the same time who got frustrated with me when I didn’t understand them.

Still, a guy named Cum is something you notice.