I work at a call center. In a tiny cube with three other sad sacks who can’t afford to quit. We are not high tech at this call center. We are exceedingly low tech, inasmuch as one of our operating systems, if it were a human, would be well past the legal drinking age in America. I mention this fact to let the reader know that we are not equipped with video phones or web conferencing or Skype or anything of the like that would allow us to visually communicate with the clients who call in to our call center. They cannot see us. I am heartily glad for this fact because it allows me to roll my eyes sarcastically, pantomime shooting myself in the head, and to enthusiastically flip off the client with any and all middle fingers available to me. As long as my voice is blandly pleasant, and as long as the client feels that I’m actually listening to what they say, I’m good. Not to belabor the point, but being a call center, our only contact with the clients is through the phone, which as aforementioned, are not video phones. No clients come in to the office. (Oh Hallelujah! Can I get an Amen?) They, at no point in time, see the people they are calling. The only people who ever see us are the other miserable wretches who inhabit this sinkhole and occasionally, the guy who fills up the soft drink machine.
So why in the name of bloody, spider infested, weasel phlegm coated Hell do I have to wear “business casual” attire?!?
I’m stuck wearing dress pants and a dress shirt and dress shoes nigh on every single day, for no apparent reason other than the fact that someone in HR decided that it makes us more productive. I’m surprised we aren’t required to wear dress underwear. I’d better not say that too loud–I’ll come in Monday morning to an email saying “In order to increase productivity, inspire morale and maximize the actualization of our corporate image, all employees are now required to wear business casual undergarments. No granny panties, no Sunday underwear (you know what we mean!) Anyone caught wearing undergarments in violation of the dress code will be sent home. And we sincerely hope they don’t get in an accident on the way home and have to go to the hospital. Not in those undergarments. What will the doctor think?”
I understand that we have to have some sort of rules on what we can wear to work. Unfortunately, some people must have been raised by wolves–blind, tasteless, uncouth wolves–and would come to work dressed in things that are all shabby, but no chic; or in things that are so ho-ish that a two dollar prostitute would scorn them. So yes, by all means–set some limits on what’s acceptable. But having to dress up like I’m off to broker some business meeting when in reality all I’m doing is staring forlornly out the window at the mocking view of the outside world until that dreaded “Beep” sounds in my headphones, is just too much.
As mentioned in a previous post, I keep my mind from running away into the void of oblivion, gibbering with tedium-induced insanity by imagining what I would do if I were a super villain. I would like to clarify that this is just speculation, and is in no way indicative of future plans or career arcs. In no way whatsoever. Whatsoever. Because that would be crazy, right? Right. Ha ha. Keeping that in mind, in part two of this post, I shall describe my ideas for wardrobing my super villain self. Topics covered will include the importance of establishing a brand, capes or no capes, and if black leather is stylish or so last season. Try not to expire from anticipation, dear readers. It’ll be hard, but I know you can make it. You are so strong.
Finch The Superb 