The Tale Of EA Worldwide

This next chapter will be difficult to write for the reason it’s still so raw.
Picture it university has been over a good three/four months: you begin to realise how you’re going to miss seeing the group of mates that you assembled over a three year period, it’s yet to dawn that keeping in touch is something that sounds nice in theory but seldom ‘appens.
You’re applying for jobs everyday on the net the likes of Reed, Monster, jobsite, gumtree etc. You must apply for 40-50 jobs a day and you get nowhere; you start to treasure rejection e-mails as at least that’s something.
It’s the first time in your life that you’re not in full time education and it terrifies you; the blanket of being a student; the shield it provides from the harsh realities of the real world. For the first time in your existence you wake on a Monday morn and you’ve nothing to do, nowhere to be, you don’t have to be up at any particular time, no-one’s expecting you anywhere on this globe. One could conceive it as a new and unprecedented freedom: it and pardon my French scared the shit out of me; you can so easily get accustomed to just lazing about the house reading the odd novel, listening to music, watching Sky Sports News on a endless loop etc.
And that’s exactly why when I received a e-mail from an EA worldwide marketing company asking me if I’d like to come in for an interview I was only ever going reply with an enthusiastic and desperate yes.
At the end of the week I went to the interview in their south London office, I was introduced to a geezer named ‘King’ as we would be having a joint interview with Mr Hector Montalvo; he was a short geezer, jovially rotund, had a cool pair of specs on, his hair was gelled in a messy ‘I’m still down with the kids’ style.
He sat King and I down in an office and very vaguely described to us about the history of EA worldwide and the companies aims and goals for the future all with his booming American accent; I was hearing what the fella was saying but I wasn’t really listening’ I couldn’t help but think this has nothing to do with journalism, nothing to do with my passion for writing, nothing to do with the degree I just spent the last three years obtaining. At the end of the interview Hector asked me if its something I’d be interested in I said yes… oh in hindsight ‘yes’ insured a hellish, torturous and desperate experience.
Later that day I did receive a phone call from Hector with the details of a sort of orientation type day that would allow me to see how you did the job; I turned up having no idea what to expect for all I knew it could’ve been male escort service.
Upon arriving at the office I was introduced to a guy by the name of Eniyola (I think that’s how you spell it.) he was tall, skinny, had short hair (in direct contrast with my raging afro) he sort of had a black Austin Powers look about him: his glasses and suit purveyed an image of Mike Myers prancing about in those awful films, but instead of a parody of a British accent he had a heavy Nigerian one. I was then told that Eni was going to be looking after me on the day, would answer any questions I had and would give an assessment of whether or not I’d be cut out for the job.
With that we headed out towards London Bridge Station and boarded a train towards some obscure part of London I can’t quite remember; on the way he kept asking me questions vaguely to do with what we were doing and where we were going. I still have didn’t have an earthly; an example of the line of questioning would be ‘If we as a company were attempting to drive up the amount of people who subscribe to Sky how would we go about doing that?’ I answered with a typical response with offerings of: sending people info packs, cold calling people with details of packages, even setting up base in a mall and attempting to seduce any would be consumers.
He retorted with what if I told you that only would account for 30% of the available market. I was confused and a little afraid; after a few moments I clocked what he was hovering around… door to door sales.
For the rest of the journey I was zombie like in my responses; my thoughts were clouded in how whenever anyone of these people turn up on the doorstep I either don’t open or feign interest until the first available window opens up for me to tell them I’m just not interested.
After completely zoning out I ‘awoke’ to find myself standing outside the first house; Eniyola rang the bell no-one came out. We then proceeded to walk around this block of houses Eniyola going through his perfected polished pitch about the British Red Cross; it was eerie how he changed the pace, pitch, volume and topic with each door; for example if a White British person came to the door he would adjust his pitch to focus on what the BRC did within the realms of the United Kingdom, if an older gentleman/lady would come to door he’d focus on what the Red Cross did within the local community emphasising on how they would help the ol’ dear’s with their weekly shop. He had this technique down to a fine art; it was wonderfully choreographed. In total we did the same block three times as he explained to me it was important to ‘work your area properly.’ The target was to speak to a minimum of 100 people; Eni explained to me how by the law of averages if you speak to at least a 100 you should be able to get your three apps (applications) with each app worth £20 to the geezer that brought them back to HQ. Sixty quid in a day wasn’t a bad day’s work. Although on this particular day for Eni the law of averages wasn’t on his side as he didn’t manage to secure any signatures.
After an awkwardly silent train journey back to south London I found myself sitting in the waiting area when Eni approached me and asked to speak to me outside; he asked me if I was really up for this, how I didn’t seem too eager for the battle that laid ahead, How he thought I was a lovely guy but seemed to lack the hunger for the job. Oh how prophetic he was I wish I’d heeded his warning.
But whilst his tirade went on all I could think about was the fact that I wasn’t even close to getting anything else, how scary it was at home with nothing to do, how I was gradually becoming too comfortable doing nothing all day, how I’d now memorised the rota and times of day the Sky Sports news female presenters were on and how every day at 3pm I made sure I was sitting down on the ol’ sofa so I could just gaze and drool at the Goddess of beauty that was Natalie Sawyer.
I wanted out, I wanted something else in my life, so even though as soon as I clocked it was door to door it wouldn’t be something I’d be content doing I told Eni I was up for it.
He still not convinced agreed to put in a good word for me.
I waited around for a while and was called into an office by Hector, I sat down exhausted and he sat opposite me and just studied me for a moment before he asked how the day had been; we chit chatted for a few minutes and then he asked me straight out if I was genuinely interested; again riddled with doubt but with another morn looming with nothing to do and nowhere to go I buckled and said I’d get used to the aspect of bothering people whilst they were in their homes and try to coax them out of their account no. and sort code; although naturally I didn’t phrase it quite like that.
He stuck out his hand and then said ‘congratulations you start tomorrow.’
What is strange is that when I left the office that night I was actually made up; I had that job I so craved. But I knew it wouldn’t last long.
Firstly it was a 12 hour a day job you would turn up at 10am to the office, stay there until about 12 practicing your pitch, learning all this bull that was supposed to help sway those people you encountered who were on the fence: first there was the SEE principle which stood for smile, eye contact and excitement: this simple acronym was designed to use the mirror effect i.e. you smile = they smile, you’re excited = they’re excited etc. Wait there’s more! There’s a world of techniques used in the sales industry that you’re taught to get you to part with that oh so valuable account no and sort code!
The next one is the Jones effect: this entails as you’re going around your selected area and perhaps getting a name of someone you talk to even if they don’t sign up; say for example Stephen at 34 and when you go to say no. 42 during your pitch you’d say ‘you know Stephen at no. 34? Yeah was talking to him earlier such a great guy he already gives to 3 other charities but he still agreed to help us out.’ Now this technique creates competition within the neighbourhood ‘if he gives then so will I! can’t have ‘em thinking were cheap can we?’ In case you haven’t worked it out the Jones’ effect gets its name from the keeping up with the Jones’ competition and mentality.
But of course what we worked on most was the actual pitch saying it over and over again, getting it embedded into our very consciousness, getting it down to such a point that even if the person whose door you knocked on came out wearing a full on Nazi uniform it wouldn’t phase you. So here for you delectation is that pitch:

You: Hi there how you doing today?
Occupant: Fine.
You: That’s great my name is (insert name here.) and I’ve been licensed by your local council to visit your neighbourhood today on behalf of the Red Cross; I’m sure you’ve heard of us right?
(At this point hand them pitch card)
Occupant: Yeah sure.
You: Oh that’s great! As I’m sure you know we help and care for people all over this world: natural disasters, famine, I’m sure you remember the Tsunami in 2004 we were actually one of the first charities to respond to this disaster providing food and shelter for those who were affected by this tragedy. I’m sure you’ll agree we’re providing a really essential service.
Occupant: Of course.
You: Well sir in order for us to keep doing this work that makes such a difference we need a massive 1.5 million pounds every single week. Now don’t worry sir I’m not here to ask you that!
Pause for chuckle.
(Remove pitch card at this point)
You: All I’m doing today is speaking to people like yourself who think what we do is really great and wouldn’t mind helping us out with a really a small amount it’s the equivalent of a cup of coffee out of your weekly budget; I’m sure we can count on you for that right?
(Smile and nod this point)
Occupant: OK
You: Great why don’t we go inside and I’ll walk you through a simple form it only take thirty seconds to get you involved.

The form actually takes nearer twenty minutes to complete but if you reveal that the battle has already been lost.
The morning sessions before we hit the streets were so surreal and it was either something you allowed yourself to get immersed in or like me you found the whole thing rather ridiculous. For example each morning would start with a campaign meeting; nothing unusual about that… but it was the way said meeting was set up; think a surreal call to arms and you’re halfway there: picture it: 10:30 in the morning; you’re absolutely exhausted because you’ve already worked 36 hours in the week; every time you blink you lust for your bed like a sailor lusts for female flesh after months at sea. And then you hear bellowed by some geezer you were introduced to a week or two ago but have long since forgotten and I believe this is verbatim “Hey guys!”
Everyone in the office with the exception of me replies
“Hey what?”
He then replies again
“Hey guys!”
Everyone again replies
“Hey what?”
Finally getting to the point he replies
“You ready for a campaign meeting?”
“Yeah!”
Was the cry from the enthralled masses and then we’d all huddle round for the meeting. I can’t recall ever joining in this ritual and it didn’t exactly endear me to the locals.
As I’m sure you’re beginning to gather I wasn’t too happy in this job and it showed in my results… during my time with the company I didn’t get more than two people to sign up in a week; the target was three a day and I would trudge back to the South London HQ after a long slog putting on this false smile, this gentle and slightly higher pitched voice, my afro cut – my very symbol of defiance against the conventions this society imposes upon us, the suit, the tye, the smile etc. all to create this image/persona that I was a happy go lucky guy just trying to do my part for humanity when in reality I was a desperate and struggling sales rep.
Returning to the office without at the very least two completed apps was humiliating.
The protocol was you’d have to wait around in the office till you were called in to find out how the day went; during that purgatory I would often just stand around eyeing the smug looks upon the features of those who’d rung the bell (got at least three apps) see the pure joy on their faces as they went around asking if anyone was in possession of a marker so they put their name down on the ‘High Roller Board’ (This was a whiteboard that was reserved for those who got three apps or more.)
Once plucked from purgatory, you’d sit down in the office sometimes with Hector, sometimes with one of his minions indoctrinated in his philosophy. You’d be asked about your day and how it was generally before you’d get down to business; my answers were perennially along the lines of ‘things were going alright till this happened…’
After all the foreplay the nitty gritty, the nuts and bolts were then put upon a computer system; the very fruits of your toil compressed into numbers. You’d skate around the less important info like how many people you’d talked to, the amount of houses you’d knocked on etc. and to be fair I always did alright on those parts I knocked on enough doors, I generally spoke to enough people for the law of averages on which this entire business and profession was built upon to kick in but it was at the end of the interrogation when asked in almost flippant and whimsical manner “How many apps?”
And I with my eyes fixed firmly anywhere but on either Hector or whichever of his prefects were on interrogation duty for the day would answer in a low, husky voice “none.” Upon that word leaving my lips I’d naturally become overwhelmed with an unprecedented feeling of inadequacy, frustration and embarrassment. Even though I hated the job I longed to be the spivvy cunt arriving back at the office asking everyone for a marker so I could stroll over to the High Roller Board and write the ol’ moniker with a real arrogance and gusto that every girl in the place would instantly drop their knickers and offer themselves up as my concubine.
The thing is whilst I was struggling the King guy I mentioned earlier who actually started on the same day as I did was the golden boy; the cunt! Everyone in the organisation knew and loved him, revered him as some sort of saviour, some sort of champion; he was Fernando Torres at Liverpool banging in the goals and absorbing in the adulation of the Kop and the media, If there were smart shirts with King no. 9 on the back it would’ve been made compulsory for every employee to wear one, King would regularly get more than 3 apps, he would regularly out perform everyone in the office, even the seasoned veterans were going to him for tips. Unfortunately for me I was Robbie Keane to his Torres: never really took off, showed the odd moment of class, never really felt the love of the Kop, continually slated by the press and Boakye no.7 would’ve been on special offer in the club shop.
My failure was compounded even further by his success; in fact there were two occasions on which I really felt it; the first was: once after a shift I had been introduced by some south African geezer whose name I didn’t know but he seemed to know mine! To this woman: short, pretty, kind of sexy, brunette. I was feeling alright because I’d actually got an app that day! So I strolled over to her to start a conversation and just like my career at EA worldwide it never took off… she answered with one word answers and constantly during my attempts to be funny, witty and satirical; I could see her eyes wandering; her very eyes appealing to anyone in the room to come and save her; like she could literally catch all of my short comings as a sales rep by spending too much time in close proximity.
We’ve all seen those American TV show’s like Saved by the Bell (Tiffany Amber Thiessen was actually my first crush) when the high school jock turns up and everyone is high fiving him, shaking his hand and literally doing anything they can to be associated with him; like his popularity and success was contagious and by successfully managing physical contact or getting a nod or even a wink would instantly make you just that little bit better.
Well that’s pretty much what it was like for King whenever he strolled into a room; women in the office would literally swoon. Guys in the vicinity would see him as the ultimate stud asking all the time if they could practice their pitch with him, begging him to divulge the secrets, which were rapidly taking him to the summit of the sales industry.
The other moment was defining in my short-lived career as a sales rep came the day King was promoted! That’s right after four glorious weeks at the top King was promoted into ‘Leadership.’ To be honest it didn’t really mean much; he got more for each app but that was about it.
It was watching him give his ‘acceptance’ speech the whole office lusting after every word uttered from his lips, his pin stripe suit looking all pristine and glistening, his beaming smile as he couldn’t contain his pride in his inevitable procession towards all glory ever associated with world of sales. It was whilst watching him in front of everyone that I knew I just couldn’t do it, I could never be him, I couldn’t get anywhere close to him not to Torres himself, I’d never feel the love, The Kop would never chant my name, at best I could’ve been a Voronin or possibly an Ngog someone just ‘appy to be there and take the odd moment of praise that came their way but forever be in the shadow of Torres… of King.
The following Monday I went in early to Hector’s office and quit.
Unsurprisingly he didn’t exactly fight to keep me; whilst on the theme of Liverpool FC I can imagine a similar scene unfolding in the corridors of Anfield in which Robbie Keane and Rafa Benitez were sitting in his office when Rafa told him that Spurs had had a bid of 12 mil accepted by the club just SIX months after they’d sold ‘im for 19 mil. Keano was probably sitting in Rafa’s office hoping that Rafa was going to tell ‘im ‘we don’t want to sell you.’ ‘I’ve seen the error of my ways: You’re starting Sunday. Please Robbie, this time it’ll be different.’
I can’t fathom the words to explain but I wanted Hector to tell me that the system had failed me; that I was a victim of some sort, the ‘customers’ and my colleagues didn’t understand me, confused my languid style for laziness, they just couldn’t see the intricacies of what I was trying to do.
In reality Robbie probably just had to listen to Rafa prattle on about how it ‘wasn’t working.’
How the glorious partnership he prophesised with Torres that would shoot them to their first Premier league crown and would form the foundation for an all conquering assault on Europe just didn’t look like coming to fruition, how it was nobody’s fault and that circumstances dictated blah blah blah.
That’s not too dissimilar the speech, I was privy to after I’d uttered the words ‘I can’t do this anymore.’
Hector went on about how he also didn’t feel it was working, how I didn’t seem to fit in, how I wasn’t progressing as he’d anticipated; in all probability he was just relieved to get my ‘negative’ influence out the door and even more grateful that in this scenario it wasn’t necessary to put on the bad guy mask.
We exchanged a meek handshake and I walked out of the South London HQ for the final time; my feelings at that time can best be described as a mesh of relief and disappointment but also something else was gnawing at my consciousness and I just didn’t want to acknowledge it, give it airtime of any kind. But on some sort of level I was looking forward to waking up the next morn lying in bed listening to the Xfm breakfast show with Alex Zane, watching a double bill of Frasier on channel 4+1 whilst eating my cereal and necking cups of tea and of course waiting till 3pm when the Goddess of British television that was Natalie Sawyer would be commencing her afternoon report.

Baker Ross Chapter

Upon finishing University I did as practically all graduates, enlisted the help of recruitment agencies to help my cause, to fight my battles and such; in the end I signed up with about four different agencies and none of them came up with the goods… that is apart from Butlers recruitment located in Tottenham actually whenever I think of Butlers I still have fond memories of the girl who dealt with me; her name was Stephanie… think bootylicious, and curves in all the right places… any who last September (08) I received a call offering me a position in a call centre located just off Blackhorse Rd (Walthamstow) I accepted at once and ran upstairs to tell my mum the good news! This is actually what I wrote within minutes of receiving this most joyous of news in my journal (not diary) The unthinkable has happened… I’ve got a job and I start tomorrow… 09:00 – 17:30, 7P/H (I’ve worked out that’s £270 a week before tax.) Finally a chance, an opportunity to meet new people and earn some cash.
No more sitting around the house all day doing nothing, I’ve got a purpose again and it’s only £10 a week on travel! Being opposite Blackhorse Rd.
Butlers have finally come through for me. No longer is their best asset the decent looking Stephanie bird; no instead they now have a temporary place in my heart! It may be essentially answering calls/general customer service but it’ll be a step up in terms of money and it’ll look decent on the ol’ CV
Also it’d be cool if there were some hot, single women who dig the intricacies and complexities of my personality not to mention my award winning looks!
Today I stick two fingers up at life; at the very world conspiring to keep me down. You’d have thought they’d have learnt I’m not like the others; I’m not just another one. (Thank you Foo Fighters)
The renaissance of Kwams D. Boakye starts today!
The chase of the glory days of yester-year, the pursuit of a hedonistic nirvana… and most importantly today I’ve taken a small step towards someday soon moving out and fulfilling the ultimate act of ladism that is living with Ben and Danny (two of my best mates) in a paradise of drink, drugs and girls not to mention footy as well.
Kwams is back! Bow down and beg for forgiveness!
I started the next day at Baker Ross which I’m sure most of you will know as an Argos type shop which specialises in home deliveries I don’t think they physically have a shop in which you can walk in and purchase whatever you desire.
Upon arriving I was shown to my desk, which wasn’t so much my desk as it was a long plank of mahogany, which about five people shared. I was then given a health and safety guide that I just perused and signed. Eventually my tour guide was introduced to me his name was Adrian (you could tell by the way he carried himself, the way he dressed, the sullen look upon his features - that his dreams went far beyond the walls of working in a call centre but being on the wrong side of thirty it was now time to give up that dream of starting his own software company and instead put on the checked shirt and settle.) and he proceeded to introduce me to just about every person ever to be affiliated with the Baker Ross company; I was shaking hands with all the different directors and bosses whilst I tried desperately to remember the moniker’s of all my new colleagues. (I was at a job once where some guy had learned my name and he was nice enough, friendly and genuine but I forgot his and it got to the point where we’d been working together for a few weeks and I couldn’t suddenly ask him “what’s your name again?” so I just proceeded to call him ‘mate’ for the three or so weeks we worked together. Needless to say I was keen to avoid a repeat.)
The tour incorporated all facets of the company which included the warehouse; upon walking into the warehouse it immediately struck me how many eastern European women in their twenties worked there: imagine if you will a bevy of Blondes and Brunettes; fit, young and vibrant working together in this almost Utopian society (well if you’re a hetro-sexual man.) Was it Orwell that wrote in 1984 that work will set us free? I don’t think even he could’ve predicted those words could’ve taken on a new hedonistic slant.

It was agreed after I’d seen behind the curtain that I could go for lunch and attempt to absorb all that I had so far endured. Whilst I sat in some random what we call ‘chicken shop’ in Walthamstow I pondered how I was going to make this work, how this was a decent opportunity to make some dosh on a regular basis, how travel was literally a pound each way on the ol’ oyster and the bra sizes and availability of the eastern European contingent in the warehouse; this I pondered as I wolfed down my chicken and chips.

After lunch I headed back to the office just thinking ‘don’t mess this up Kwams.’
The time had now come for me to be introduced to the computer system used for dealing with customers. In order to be an effective member of the call centre it’s of vital importance that you can answer a query whilst using the computer system to help you do it.
All through the day I had everyone in my ear saying stuff like ‘you’ll pick it up.’ And ‘you just get used to it.’
Adrian led me to an empty room where he proceeded to speak well what might as well have been Russian about the system they used and how they used it to place orders and deal with customer queries.
The time for talk had now come and gone; Adrian then summoned moi to demonstrate that I could effectively use the system.
I sat down at a computer which was connected to one of those big screens often seen in pubs to screen the footy; Adrian then asked me to perform a variety of different tasks. Needless to say my computer skills aren’t exactly the most riveting and I struggled… on all but a few occasions I needed prompting and directions from Adrian to prevent me getting lost in a world of shipping, delivery and catalogue numbers.
After what seemed like an eternity for both us Adrian decreed that watching someone in action was the best way for me to learn; he again reassured me ‘no-one gets it at first’ and ‘we’ll work on it tomorrow.’
So for the rest of day I watched as the seasoned pros, the veterans of the call centre industry made the art of talking via headset whilst using the daunting computer system, to deal with whatever the customers desired; from ordering products to dealing with returns.
The best way I can describe what these people do is if you can imagine fencing: where the customer comes flying out the blocks slashing wildly and some what amateurishly, whilst the call centre pro’s without breaking stride rebuff all attacks with an arrogance and contempt before launching a counter which proves fatal. Depending on the skill level (complexity of the query) the bout could last longer but the end result was always the same the call centre always won.
It was almost quite extraordinary to watch how simply the workers could utilise what seemed to me the most complex piece of programming known to the civilised world to make their work seem run of the mill.
Five o’ clock finally arrived and upon punching out my time card and saying ‘see ya tomorrow.’
To the entire Baker Ross employee rota I couldn’t help think I’m really going to have to rise to the challenge of the system, don’t run from it, don’t hide from it but call it out western style and turn and draw from ten paces. Call its bluff and then shoot it down and at least if I lost I could go down in a blaze of glorious failure.

What happened next is still I feel unprecedented in terms of unexpected horror. Upon reaching my door I got a call from someone at Butler’s agency; ‘isn’t this sweet I thought to myself they’ve called to see how my first day went.’ WRONG instead a woman on the end of the line told me “unfortunately you can’t go back, they thought you were really well spoken and appropriately dressed but they just felt you didn’t take to the computer system quickly enough.”
So there it was all the talk about ‘don’t worry no-one gets it at first.’ Was nothing more than a scripted rouse that tell all those who they just don’t think are up to the required standard; oh the deceit was in my face all day long and I just didn’t see it. Even now as I write about this a year on I’m filled with a bitterness and melancholy which just isn’t healthy for a job that ultimately meant nothing to me.
Whilst the position wasn’t something I particularly wanted it did serve as a reminder that the warm and comfortable bubble that was university had well and truly burst… it was now time to prepare for the harsh and ruthless realities ahead.

On The Web...

My first Blog! Just want to get the ol' moniker out there! Kwamsy's Rockets is just my two-penneth on current events. Aspring journalists and all that so just want to thank all those in advance who will ultimately become unwitting participants to my desperate charade of a blog.
Hare Krishna!