this post was submitted on 07 Feb 2025
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Fedimigration Organizing
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This is a place to share resources and coordinate projects to assist in the migration away from legacy social media.
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You know what broke me of all phone anxiety? I spent the last eight years at a job where I frequently have to call hospital billing departments, and for eight years they have consistently been inventing new ways to disappoint me.
So now I have the ability to not only sound quite confident speaking with strangers on the phone, I can also handle flat rejection and the most weaponized stupidity ever recorded for quality assurance.
I'm a broken, once-proud introvert who never wanted to leave calm, concise voice mails or get back to people.
This is poetry.
It's the most striking thing. When you speak with a hospital billing representative who is constantly being recorded, timed, and censored - not to mention mistreated by the most disturbing examples of god's handiwork on a daily basis, it is like communion with a ghost, a crossing of the veil with a shade rendered insensate by the shackles of infinity. Stripped of all memory, feeling, and mentation, they routinely repeat themselves and forget nearly everything you tell them.
They will terrorise you with outdated information, demand months or longer to respond to any request, transfer you to someone even more psychically hollow, and fail entirely to read or write any notes from your previous calls from the last six weeks.
I wish that instead of a VOIP client, my phone was designed by Egon Spengler to entrap such nightmares. They would be better looked after in an ecto-containment unit by my desk, I think.
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I do complain magnificently at times, but I've never managed to make it my job. If I did, I'd run out of relatable material too quickly.
It's okay to complain as a hobby. We're allowed to be good at things without monetizing them. For now, anyway.