I know that this may come as a shock to all my fans out there, but contrary to what Carrie Bradshaw of Sex and the City might have you believe, writing occasional, self-absorbed musings about whatever highly personal topic happens to pop into my idle mind each week is not as lucrative an activity as one would hope.

As a result, I also have this day job at a company where as an “Application Specialist” I help directors of triathlons, marathons, cycling events, little leagues and other vaguely sport related activities utilize our online registration and data management products. Until now, I’ve really tried to steer away from the shop talk in my blogs because let’s face it, you didn’t even read that last sentence and if you did, you want your 3 seconds back. Marea, that string of words did not contain one expletive or unnecessarily harsh judgment about a celebrity or stranger! You actually used the word “data”. Boring! Well I’m not getting paid to write these blogs and you’re not paying to read them, so as long as my closet remains free of undeserved $400 Manolo heels, I will write about whatever I damn well please.

Today, I would like to talk about some of the regulars who call the Client Support team during my phone shift, a five hour span of time in my work day where I can literally feel my youth sprinting away from me with Usain Bolt-like speed.

* Disclaimer: The opinions expressed herein are the views of a disgruntled employee (one who feels very fortunate to have a job, particularly one that allows her to wear plaid shorts and t-shirts that even Goodwill would very likely reject to work several times a week) and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of my company (which I have excluded in this reprint as the state of the economy makes me far less ballsy these days.)

The Only Client
Only Clients are characterized by their perception that theirs is the only event currently accepting registrations on our website. Their sense of self importance is astounding, especially considering that their event is seldom earning our company enough revenue to pay for the toilet paper I personally use at the office in a week’s time. Only Clients always have events that are named things like “Frank’s Moonlight Turkey Trot” or “The Mower Triath-lawn”, but the minor hoopla they cause annually in their small towns make their organizers believe that they are very busy and valuable people indeed. You can explain to an Only Client how to carry out a simple task, and they will inform you with a sigh that this is a VERY stressful time with the race being two weeks away and all – imagine, asking the director of the Ride the Tide to click four buttons when there are banners and bunting to be hung! – and it would really just be easier if you downloaded, sorted and emailed them a spreadsheet of their complete accounting information, preferably with the major points summarized at the top.

Due to their great importance, every minor product enhancement suggested by an Only Client to accommodate their very specific and preposterous needs should be addressed by our best developers by no later than 2 PM today. I used to receive biweekly calls from Justin, the organizer of an inline skating marathon who often paused in the middle of our conversation to order food at his local diner, reminding me that despite his frequent requests, our system still did not allow him to post his race results to the hundredth of a second.

Excerpt from an actual call:
“What you’re not understanding Marea…one sec…Yeah I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger. Wait, wait, wait. No onions. No, actually…Yeah, no onions. Wait. You know what? Onion rings! What you’re not understanding, Marea, is that inline skating marathons are won by HUNDRETHS of a second. They’re not like regular marathons!”

No Justin, they’re not like regular marathons. The frontrunners are probably crossing the finish line within HUNDRETHS of a second of each other because they are pinching the ass of the skater in the American flag thong jamming to the oldies directly in front of them. Please get a job so you don’t have the time to call me every day during your afternoon artery clog-fest about your non-sporting event, you total dickhole.

The Hawaiian Client
Talking to an event director located in Hawaii is as close as you can get to talking to someone in a coma. It is so likely that a Hawaiian Client will have classical music playing soothingly in the background during your call that I’m beginning to think that it is broadcast through their phone lines as part of a state-wide “chill-axing” agenda. These people seem so genuinely content and relaxed that turning on their computer, dialing our number and making it through our three minute conversation surely requires such an immense effort that they have to pencil it in as the sole item on their to-do list for the day. I imagine that after they end our call with a slow and pleasant “Mahalo”, they hang up the phone, smoke a bowl and eat copious amounts of roasted pig before their afternoon nap, relieved that the hardest part of their week is finally over. Hawaiian Clients are lovely to talk to, but their lives seem so much better than mine that I find them annoying and hate them on principle.

The Old As Dirt Client
Old As Dirt clients have been running their events since the early 1900s and with the urging of their children or puppet master interns have reluctantly decided to move their registration online instead of holding their traditional town square sign-ups – “One entry into Thee Ol’ Buggy Race in exchange for three bushels of your finest crop or most fertile daughter!”

If these clients are able to successfully identify an object in their home as a computer, they are usually unable to turn it on, but every so often they do find our phone number and decide to bring their fundamental misunderstanding of the basic functionality of these new-fangled devices into our lives in a very senile and crotchety way.

Excerpt from an actual call:
“This is Don Thurmond. Who am I talking to?”
“It’s Marea, Mr. Thurmond, we’ve been talking for ten minutes.”
“Maria?”
“Marea, Mr. Thurmond.”
“Well Mariah, like I said, I need the names of the people who registered for my race.”
“Right, well you actually have to log into our system in order to…Actually, doesn’t your son Scott usually pull those reports and print them in a size 16 font for you, Mr. Thurmond? Do you think we could just have him…”
“I don’t want to talk to him! Just tell me what button to push on this fancy typewriter to get to the names girly! Shift? Esc?”

The Computer Illiterate to the Point of Retardation Client
These clients are worse than the Old As Dirt clients because they can’t blame their incompetence on being born during a time when cars with frontal cranks were the newest craze. These are the clients you have to explain complex concepts such as right clicking, double clicking, minimizing, and copying and pasting to before you can even begin to think of having them to traverse the infinitely confusing world of online registration. These clients think that the link you sent them doesn’t work because they have been entering it into their Google search bar rather than their browser (thank you Emily), print and fax you hundreds of pages from their website rather than sending you the links (thank you Kiki), send you self addressed envelopes in which to email them a spreadsheet because they can’t get it to print on one page (thank you asshole I spoke to last Wednesday), and are generally characterized by their mind boggling ineptitude with all things that require electricity to function. Since AmeriCorps made me a selfless individual and an experienced public servant, I am thinking of creating a position for myself within the company where my only job is to personally drive to the homes of The Computer Illiterate to the Point of Retardation Clients and confiscate their computers before they cause their brains to explode and bleed out their eyes.

The Technology Has No Bounds Client
Unlike the Computer Illiterate to the Point of Retardation Clients to whom they are closely related, the Technology Has No Bounds Clients actually fancy themselves quite the Geek Squad members. They have such a high regard for the wonders of technology and consider themselves so hip to the NASA-caliber advancements happening in the computer world today, that they are certain that miracles are occurring on our website on a daily basis. When I tell them our system is not capable of their demand, they assume it is due to my personal lack of comprehension of the vast possibilities of the world wide interweb; perhaps if they just talk slower and louder to me I’ll be able to push the right button? Surely they can be transferred to our curing of the blind department if I am unable to do my job correctly? The Technology Has No Bounds Clients would be completely unsurprised if we flipped a switch on our end that caused their computers to morph into a helpful (and adorable!) droids that not only plan and manage their events for them, but actually participate and place very highly in the race itself while shitting money along the course.

The This Phone Call Is A Lower Priority To Me Than The Shit I’m Taking Client
Sometimes when I am mid-conversation with the This Phone Call Is A Lower Priority To Me Than The Shit I’m Taking Client, I wonder if I am terribly confused and it’s actually me who called them and is being the terrible imposition. These clients manage to dial your number in the midst of the twelve other tasks they are currently trying to accomplish and rotate you in as if you’re having a conversation on Instant Messenger. They put you on hold, they check their casserole, they shout at traffic, they flush; you might as well be they’re their elderly mother getting a reluctant check-in call at the nursing home.

Excerpt from an actual call:
“Okay so I’ve been having some trouble downloading…TAYLOR! DON’T TOUCH THAT. Mommy said DON’T…Okay so my download…Bye, Dave! Thanks for stopping by. Oh you’re so bad! …Okay, so I’ve logged in…TAYLOR. WHAT DID I JUST SAY?…Sorry are you still there? I’m going to have to put you on hold for just a sec, my holistic healer is on the other line and she’s sooo hard to get a hold of.”

No go ahead. I’m sorry you called me at such a bad time. That was so rude of me to answer.

I imagine that only my fellow employees have made it all the way through this rant, so I’ll end this with a message for them:

What the hell are you guys doing Facebooking at work!? Caught you. Feel free to comment throughout your day as needed about the clients I missed. It’s so much better than the four therapy visits a year or whatever that our company pays for.