Can't believe I haven't updated this thing in almost two years! I've had a Xanga for a few years now that I keep hidden from the real world; it's the place where I can rant and rave and bitch and complain all I want without having to ever face my readers in real life. It's my punching bag, and I like to keep it as far away from people as I possibly can. I can count on one hand the number of friends who know about it, and I don't see that number increasing anytime soon. However, I eventually realized that some of my posts on Xanga weren't rants: they were purely opinion pieces that I can share with whomever I like, actual blog-worthy notes that could use some comments from the real word rather than strictly the virtual one. So, here I am.
A lot has changed since I've last been here. I think the only thing that has stayed the same is my education: I'm still studying translation, and although both my motivation and my passion have dwindled over the past three years, I'm still sticking to it, and (hopefully) next April, I'll be a university graduate. In other words, I'll officially be in debt.
It's difficult to condense the complexities of my thoughts into this one post. I'm also procrastinating on an assignment as we speak, and should be getting back to it sooner than later. I will, however, discuss what my next few posts will cover. This will not only give you an idea of what direction this blog will be taking, but it will also force me to actually regularly update this thing, since I've already made the outline.
One of the main things I want to talk about is self-discovery. I've done a lot of this in the past couple of years, even more so in the last 10 months or so, and I've never really had a chance to put it all down on paper in retrospect. This alone will probably require two or three separate entries.
Something else I've been meaning to put down on paper (screen? uhh..) is the idea of appreciation in life. I'd need a full post just to attempt to describe my reasoning behind this.
Until next time!!
-Rana <3
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Customer Service.
I work as a Call Centre Agent for Ticketmaster. Although the job can be extremely repetitive, especially when I literally had 20 callers in a row asking for Beyonce tickets, and having to tell all of them that they sold out within 20 minutes. And then having to hear the symphony of "are you serious?!" and "are there going to be more tickets available later on?" and "but it's for a birthday present!". Newsflash: I DON'T CARE.
But at the end of the day, I really don't mind it. I find it much easier to deal with customers over the phone than in person. Some of the the callers are also quite humourous, and I have found myself, on numerous occasions, getting carried away in casual conversations with the customers.
And then there are the customers who would give their right leg if it meant it would ruin someone's day. There are several types of such customers:
1. The Finger-Pointer.
It is not my fault that we do not sell tickets for your event. Yes, we are a company that sells tickets for events, but that does not mean that we sell tickets for ALL events. Promoters contact us, and ask us to sell tickets for their events. The promoter for your event clearly did not do that. Therefore, we do not sell tickets for that particular event. I mean... really. Also, it is not my responsibility to find out WHO is selling tickets for that event. I have 30 other calls waiting, I do not have time to roam through Google for that information. You have a computer, you can do that yourself. So stop screaming at me, and don't call me a Jew. (yes, this has happened)
2. The Queen Bee
You called me for tickets. Don't flippin' put me on hold and expect to me to wait for you. Do you really think you're the only caller I have? Have some common courtesy. Also, it's not my fault that tickets went on sale while you were at work. You have no right to tell me to "hurry up". If you don't shut up, I will release your $300 Beyonce tickets into the system, and give them to someone more deserving and polite, you inconsiderate bitch. The more you tell me you're "in a hurry", the slower I will go. I will also decide that my system will shut down, and waste even more of your time. So let me do my job in peace.
3. The One who Expects Too Much.
If you are calling to make changes to your account, you need a flippin' account number. How else am I supposed to change your ACCOUNT? I can also look it up using your credit card number, but half the time, you don't have it "on you". So you sit there and expect me to hand you a freakin' solution. Then you yell at me when I don't have one. I apologize for not having all your information on a post-it note on my screen. Bastard. Go choke on a lemon.
4. The Mother.
If your children are screaming in the background, it is a REALLY REALLY bad time to decide to call us and purchase tickets. I am asking you for a credit card number, and your mailing information so you can receive your tickets. That's kinda crucial. Shut those brats up, and then call me. You can't decide to use the "ignore" technique while on the phone. That is just illogical on so many levels.
5. The Driver.
For the love of all that is holy, if you absolutely HAVE to call me while driving, please close your goddamn windows. I can hear the wind blowing into your phone, and I can't actually hear *you*. Also, it's kinda scary that you're giving me your credit card number while driving. Watch the road. Your Keith Urban tickets can wait til you at least park somewhere, or wait until AFTER you buy your tickets to actually drive somewhere.
6. The One Who Lacks Common Sense.
The AC/DC tickets went on sale over 2 weeks ago. He called me and asked me for floor seats.
Enough said.
It took me all my strength to not laugh hysterically and tell him to jump out the nearest window.
7. The Teenager.
You're 14 years old. Stop treating me like your little bitch. You can take your Papa Roach tickets and shove them where the sun don't shine. OH WAIT! You can't. You don't have a credit card to purchase said tickets. So go tie a dumbell to your ankle and jump over a bridge, will you?
8. The Elderly.
If you are hearing-impaired, do not call in for tickets. I cannot keep yelling over the phone when I am in a call center with 40 other employees. Get someone else to do it for you, or go to a Retail Outlet.
(I love old people. I really do. Just not over the phone.)
9. The Complainer.
You keep saying how we're a bunch of thieves, who steal all your money with "secret charges" (even though we tell you all the charges before your credit card is checked, but hey! who's asking?), and how we just LOVE to screw people over.
Then stop buying tickets from us? It's quite a simple solution, really. Don't expect me to beg for your forgiveness and offer you free tickets or something of the sorts. Go drink rat poison. It's good for you, I promise.
There's more. I could go on forever... I probably will, in another post.
So what I'm trying to say is.... We're people too. So stfu, purchase your tickets, thank us if you feel so obligated, and hang up. That's all we ask of you.
But at the end of the day, I really don't mind it. I find it much easier to deal with customers over the phone than in person. Some of the the callers are also quite humourous, and I have found myself, on numerous occasions, getting carried away in casual conversations with the customers.
And then there are the customers who would give their right leg if it meant it would ruin someone's day. There are several types of such customers:
1. The Finger-Pointer.
It is not my fault that we do not sell tickets for your event. Yes, we are a company that sells tickets for events, but that does not mean that we sell tickets for ALL events. Promoters contact us, and ask us to sell tickets for their events. The promoter for your event clearly did not do that. Therefore, we do not sell tickets for that particular event. I mean... really. Also, it is not my responsibility to find out WHO is selling tickets for that event. I have 30 other calls waiting, I do not have time to roam through Google for that information. You have a computer, you can do that yourself. So stop screaming at me, and don't call me a Jew. (yes, this has happened)
2. The Queen Bee
You called me for tickets. Don't flippin' put me on hold and expect to me to wait for you. Do you really think you're the only caller I have? Have some common courtesy. Also, it's not my fault that tickets went on sale while you were at work. You have no right to tell me to "hurry up". If you don't shut up, I will release your $300 Beyonce tickets into the system, and give them to someone more deserving and polite, you inconsiderate bitch. The more you tell me you're "in a hurry", the slower I will go. I will also decide that my system will shut down, and waste even more of your time. So let me do my job in peace.
3. The One who Expects Too Much.
If you are calling to make changes to your account, you need a flippin' account number. How else am I supposed to change your ACCOUNT? I can also look it up using your credit card number, but half the time, you don't have it "on you". So you sit there and expect me to hand you a freakin' solution. Then you yell at me when I don't have one. I apologize for not having all your information on a post-it note on my screen. Bastard. Go choke on a lemon.
4. The Mother.
If your children are screaming in the background, it is a REALLY REALLY bad time to decide to call us and purchase tickets. I am asking you for a credit card number, and your mailing information so you can receive your tickets. That's kinda crucial. Shut those brats up, and then call me. You can't decide to use the "ignore" technique while on the phone. That is just illogical on so many levels.
5. The Driver.
For the love of all that is holy, if you absolutely HAVE to call me while driving, please close your goddamn windows. I can hear the wind blowing into your phone, and I can't actually hear *you*. Also, it's kinda scary that you're giving me your credit card number while driving. Watch the road. Your Keith Urban tickets can wait til you at least park somewhere, or wait until AFTER you buy your tickets to actually drive somewhere.
6. The One Who Lacks Common Sense.
The AC/DC tickets went on sale over 2 weeks ago. He called me and asked me for floor seats.
Enough said.
It took me all my strength to not laugh hysterically and tell him to jump out the nearest window.
7. The Teenager.
You're 14 years old. Stop treating me like your little bitch. You can take your Papa Roach tickets and shove them where the sun don't shine. OH WAIT! You can't. You don't have a credit card to purchase said tickets. So go tie a dumbell to your ankle and jump over a bridge, will you?
8. The Elderly.
If you are hearing-impaired, do not call in for tickets. I cannot keep yelling over the phone when I am in a call center with 40 other employees. Get someone else to do it for you, or go to a Retail Outlet.
(I love old people. I really do. Just not over the phone.)
9. The Complainer.
You keep saying how we're a bunch of thieves, who steal all your money with "secret charges" (even though we tell you all the charges before your credit card is checked, but hey! who's asking?), and how we just LOVE to screw people over.
Then stop buying tickets from us? It's quite a simple solution, really. Don't expect me to beg for your forgiveness and offer you free tickets or something of the sorts. Go drink rat poison. It's good for you, I promise.
There's more. I could go on forever... I probably will, in another post.
So what I'm trying to say is.... We're people too. So stfu, purchase your tickets, thank us if you feel so obligated, and hang up. That's all we ask of you.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Double Standard. (mindless rant)
He stays out til the wee hours of the morning, without my parents having a clue of his whereabouts.
I call every couple of hours to let them know exactly where I am and what I'm doing, and I still have an early curfew.
He has a massive group of female friends that my mother is very aware of.
They see me LOOKING at a guy, and they call me a slut.
He can decide to not follow through with his promises, and the 'rents won't care.
I FORGET to do something, and they never let me hear the end of it.
He can get away with murder.
And I have to be home by 10pm.
He's my brother...
and I'm the sister.
Not to mention the fact that I also come from a moderate Muslim family who has attempted to raise my siblings and I in the *muslim* way, while living in a Western society. Newsflash: THAT DOES NOT WORK.
As immigrants, and as a minority, we should realize that our culture is completely dominated by the western one.
You can't tell me that I can't date, when I am surrounded by the dating scene.
You can't expect me to not drink, when I am constantly invited to parties.
You can't tell me that a muslim girl must not have an overly-active social life, when people here usually spend their spare time OUTSIDE of the home.
You can't use "What will others think of you?" as a reason for me NOT doing something, when it's the majority here who encourages it.
You can't let my brothers do whatever the hell they want without even giving it a second thought, and immediately hound me when I ask to do something.
You can't expect me to still have respect for you when you look me dead in the eye and tell me you don't trust what I'm doing behind your back.
It's when you started accusing me of doing drugs, that I started smoking weed.
It's when you accused me of having vodka in my cup instead of water, that I started drinking.
It's when you started questioning my motives, that I started lying about where I was going.
It's when you told me I was a lost cause that I strayed from this bullshit of a religion.
You can't give my 22-year-old brother money for gas, and then turn to my 18-year-old self and tell me to get a job. You will bend over backwards for my brothers, you will go through hell and back to ensure they have a simple life. And when I needed help to pay tuition for the education that I am getting FOR YOU, you turned around and spent $20,000 on a new kitchen. You saw me kill myself for two months, working 7 days a week, and what did you do?
You commented on the dark circles under my eyes, and advised that I should invest in some cover-up.
You sat there and did nothing while my brother and father disowned me for shedding the hijab. You did NOTHING.
You think that us, the minorities, are better than "them". The majority. The Canadians. The ones who don't disown their family members for any reason, big or small. You insis that your morals are stronger than theirs, that they are all scoundrels who are disowned by their parents at 18, get pregnant outside of wedlock, and make nothing of their lives.
Here's a little slap of reality, ma. You know what they have, that we don't?
Their families have structures. Foundations. Strength. Their siblings and parents don't disown them. They have this thing, they call it communication. Instead of disowning their sibling, they will TALK to them about what they did. Ever heard of that? Talking? Communicating? Of course not.
Everyone has their flaws. I'm not gonna say that "non-muslims are perfect". Just like not all arabs are terrorists. It's just that... we're a minority. This country got us away from hell. And you're just spitting on it. Get a grip.
There's many things I hate in life.
People who walk slow. Groups who take up the entire width of the hallway. Seafood. Sushi. That icky feeling you get in your mouth when you chew tin foil.
But there are very few things I absolutely can't stand.
People who lie to me.
People who insult my intelligence.
And double standards.
Either accept the culture that we've become immersed in, or fucking leave. It's that simple.
I call every couple of hours to let them know exactly where I am and what I'm doing, and I still have an early curfew.
He has a massive group of female friends that my mother is very aware of.
They see me LOOKING at a guy, and they call me a slut.
He can decide to not follow through with his promises, and the 'rents won't care.
I FORGET to do something, and they never let me hear the end of it.
He can get away with murder.
And I have to be home by 10pm.
He's my brother...
and I'm the sister.
Not to mention the fact that I also come from a moderate Muslim family who has attempted to raise my siblings and I in the *muslim* way, while living in a Western society. Newsflash: THAT DOES NOT WORK.
As immigrants, and as a minority, we should realize that our culture is completely dominated by the western one.
You can't tell me that I can't date, when I am surrounded by the dating scene.
You can't expect me to not drink, when I am constantly invited to parties.
You can't tell me that a muslim girl must not have an overly-active social life, when people here usually spend their spare time OUTSIDE of the home.
You can't use "What will others think of you?" as a reason for me NOT doing something, when it's the majority here who encourages it.
You can't let my brothers do whatever the hell they want without even giving it a second thought, and immediately hound me when I ask to do something.
You can't expect me to still have respect for you when you look me dead in the eye and tell me you don't trust what I'm doing behind your back.
It's when you started accusing me of doing drugs, that I started smoking weed.
It's when you accused me of having vodka in my cup instead of water, that I started drinking.
It's when you started questioning my motives, that I started lying about where I was going.
It's when you told me I was a lost cause that I strayed from this bullshit of a religion.
You can't give my 22-year-old brother money for gas, and then turn to my 18-year-old self and tell me to get a job. You will bend over backwards for my brothers, you will go through hell and back to ensure they have a simple life. And when I needed help to pay tuition for the education that I am getting FOR YOU, you turned around and spent $20,000 on a new kitchen. You saw me kill myself for two months, working 7 days a week, and what did you do?
You commented on the dark circles under my eyes, and advised that I should invest in some cover-up.
You sat there and did nothing while my brother and father disowned me for shedding the hijab. You did NOTHING.
You think that us, the minorities, are better than "them". The majority. The Canadians. The ones who don't disown their family members for any reason, big or small. You insis that your morals are stronger than theirs, that they are all scoundrels who are disowned by their parents at 18, get pregnant outside of wedlock, and make nothing of their lives.
Here's a little slap of reality, ma. You know what they have, that we don't?
Their families have structures. Foundations. Strength. Their siblings and parents don't disown them. They have this thing, they call it communication. Instead of disowning their sibling, they will TALK to them about what they did. Ever heard of that? Talking? Communicating? Of course not.
Everyone has their flaws. I'm not gonna say that "non-muslims are perfect". Just like not all arabs are terrorists. It's just that... we're a minority. This country got us away from hell. And you're just spitting on it. Get a grip.
There's many things I hate in life.
People who walk slow. Groups who take up the entire width of the hallway. Seafood. Sushi. That icky feeling you get in your mouth when you chew tin foil.
But there are very few things I absolutely can't stand.
People who lie to me.
People who insult my intelligence.
And double standards.
Either accept the culture that we've become immersed in, or fucking leave. It's that simple.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Numero Uno
Well, my first Blogspot post. I've been through the Xanga blogs, the Facebook notes, this, that, and the other thing... and now I'm here. Let's see where this takes us.
Might as well say a little something about myself, right?
My name is Rana, I'm in my first year at the University of Ottawa, studying Translation and Interpretation. I hope to graduate in 2012 and eventually work for CSIS as a Translator. Yes, I'll be the rebellious Middle Eastern girl conspiring against people of her own kind. I can hardly wait.
Although I was raised Muslim, my profound research in the fundamentals of Islam have caused my to stray from my religion. I'm not sure what I am, but my research is still active. I hope to find an answer someday.
I speak 3 languages, and hope to learn a 4th before I graduate.
I'm outspoken, opinionated, straight-forward, and my mouth has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion. I will speak my mind, and I'll state my opinions loud and clear. My views on politics are a little screwy, my religious debates have a record of making devout religionists run away with their tails between their legs. I love to debate, it's definitely a passion.
I'm not sure what I'm going to make out of this blog, so I'll be taking it a day at a time. I do have a tendency of posting random rants to release my frustrations, but I will definitely try to keep substance alive throughout my posts.
Til next time,
Rana
Might as well say a little something about myself, right?
My name is Rana, I'm in my first year at the University of Ottawa, studying Translation and Interpretation. I hope to graduate in 2012 and eventually work for CSIS as a Translator. Yes, I'll be the rebellious Middle Eastern girl conspiring against people of her own kind. I can hardly wait.
Although I was raised Muslim, my profound research in the fundamentals of Islam have caused my to stray from my religion. I'm not sure what I am, but my research is still active. I hope to find an answer someday.
I speak 3 languages, and hope to learn a 4th before I graduate.
I'm outspoken, opinionated, straight-forward, and my mouth has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion. I will speak my mind, and I'll state my opinions loud and clear. My views on politics are a little screwy, my religious debates have a record of making devout religionists run away with their tails between their legs. I love to debate, it's definitely a passion.
I'm not sure what I'm going to make out of this blog, so I'll be taking it a day at a time. I do have a tendency of posting random rants to release my frustrations, but I will definitely try to keep substance alive throughout my posts.
Til next time,
Rana
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