The worst job I had was in a bank in Sydney, dealing with a life insurance policy called Lite Life Direct. It was tedious, repetitive and oddly stressful, and involved a lot of time on the phone. What made the situation particularly frustrating was that almost no one could understand my Scottish accent.
“Lite Life Direct,” I would say, three, sometimes four times down the line to no avail. Then I would cave: “Loight Loif Direct.” With my faux-Australian pronunciation, suddenly me and the caller would be simpatico.
