Song Of The Day : Heavyweight Champion of the World

I'm here, again. If I'm honest, the only reason I'm not posting more often is that people who have genuinely applied themselves through their twenties, and are now well read, articulate, brilliant writers, and may be reading this, god forbid!

Anyway, the journey of a thousand steps, and all that. Must plough on. Some of you who know me well will know that I love music. In these tough days, as I trudge into this call centre I work at, I use my ipod nano as a kind of comfort blanket, to protect me and shield me from the reality of where I am.

There are certain songs that I play to myself, and then, , in between or during calls, in the record player of my mind, I hear them again and again, stuck on repeat, as an act of silent rebellion against my circumstances. Speaking of this, I remember being in the HMV on the Manchester High Street a few years ago and hearing this, wondering who it was. The guy seemed to be talking about my life. Here are the lyrics. I strongly recommend you take a few moments, and listen to the tune, below, right through. And please do comment, here or on facebook, share this page with your friends, and retweet, etc.....

And now…

That shes older
In the embers of romance
Pay two mortgages and leccy bills
Been comfortable and that
Nobody told her
That she’d ever reach the stage
Where her husband bores or her
Or she lies about her age

He’s compromising
At least he’s got a job for life
Get born, get school, get job, get car
Pay tax and find a wife
And on that note
The end can’t come too soon
If you’re not living on the edge
You take up too much room

I could’ve been a contender
Could’ve been a someone
Caught up in the rat race
And feeling like a no-one
Appearing in the papers
With the money and the girls
I could’ve been The Heavyweight Champion of the World

At school he used to dream about
Being Bruce Lee
But the need for chops in the Manor top
Aint all that great you see
And so he gave up
On his black belt and first Dan
As near as he got to China
Was a week in Camber sands

I could’ve been a contender
Could’ve been a someone
Caught up in the rat race
And feeling like a no-one
Appearing in the papers
With the money and the girls
I could’ve been The Heavyweight Champion of the World

It might be boring so boring
It might put you to sleep
The same old routine repeats week after week
And you work harder, work harder
Cos you’re told that you must
And you must earn a living
And you must earn a crust

…like everybody else
Just be like everybody else
Just be like everybody else
Be like everybody else
Be like everybody else
Just be like everybody else
Just be like everybody else
Just be like everybody else

I could’ve been a contender
Could’ve been a someone
Caught up in the rat race
And feeling like a no-one
Appearing in the papers
With the money and the girls
I could’ve been The Heavyweight Champion of the World
I could’ve been a contender
Could’ve been a someone
Caught up in the rat race
And feeling like a no-one
Appearing in the papers
With the money and the girls

Call Centre Confessional : Monday, 1st March, 2010

“When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn't imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.” Groundhog Day. Bill Murray. Being sarcastic. And surrounded by people he thinks are mostly cunts.

“I told you. I wake up every day, right here, right in Punxsutawney, and it's always February 2nd, and there's nothing I can do about it.”

Every day is the same. Each day, as I clock into my computer and my phone turret each morning, I have to ask myself, How did I get into this awful mess? Like Bill Murray, I am forever destined to wake up, in a cold, miserably gray Northern city, and go to work in a call centre. Any call centre. Forever and ever. Amen.

My name is Abbas, and I am in my early 30s. Just about. It is 2010. In the decade that has passed, I have lost my youth, my looks, and some of my sanity, but mostly I’ve lost a decade, wasted in about 15 different call centres, in between trying to escape from my dire circumstances by developing careers in journalism, sales and the law. Nothing has worked. I keep coming back to the same dry well to get a few, precious drips of water, ekeing pennies, condemned forever to spend my days repeating inane phrases like “Hello, my name is Abbas, how can I help?” for a succession of literally thousands of people, princes and paupers, who do not care whether I live or die.

The call centres of this town.....they are places, factories where hope and the human spirit is crushed. People are forced to conform, tied to their desks and monitored via stats churned out from the activities conducted on their phone turrets and PCs. This is prison for the free.

And talent, well, that is no guarantee of freedom, no sir. I know one man who spends every single minute of his waking life thinking about or performing poetry outside of his job answering financial services calls for a bank, and another, one of the most gifted musicians and artists I have ever met, who has worked a succession of call centres across this cold wet land over a the course of nearly 20 years. Visit these places, and you shall meet countless people who deserve more, but because of some mysterious force which crushes the soul in these offices of banks, insurers, and retail services, they end up setting for much, much less than they deserve.

So, consider this the diary of an imprisoned, condemned man. I tried climbing out, but the harder I tried, the more stuck I became, like quicksand into a spiral of huge debts. I ask myself, if I'm so smart, why am I not free?

Anyway, so here I am. I currently work at the RAC. It's week 3. And here's the setup. Plain as you like. I'm going to give things one last shot at escape. This is my last call centre, so help me god. I'm going to get out of here, if it's the last thing I do.