Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel Page 11

  Knock! Knock!

  “Enter at your own risk.”

  Cracking the door ajar, I find Karsynn in the midst of stuffing shirts into a bulging Adidas gym bag.

  “What’s up?” she asks, without looking up.

  Leaning heavily against the doorframe, I mutter, “Nothing.”

  There is a lull of silence. Casting my eyes downward, I draw small swirls on the carpet with my restless foot.

  Eventually, Kars jerks her head up. “Really?”

  “No. I hate that we’re not talking.”

  We eye each other warily. The ball is in her court now.

  She makes an exasperated sound. “Look, I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder because I don’t appreciate being second guessed all the time. I’m a grown woman, Maddy; give me some credit here. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I know,” I say quietly. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  After a stretch of silence, she mumbles something indistinct.

  My eyes crinkle. “Sorry, um what did you just say?”

  “I said I too hate that we’re not talking,” she grits.

  I smile broadly. “Well good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

  Kars shoots back a conciliatory smile and hurls a sock at me.

  I catch the sock with one hand. “Kars, I still hate the fact that you’re seeing that prick.” I’m compelled to say more, but I drop it after seeing the look on her face. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is...I’ve missed you,” I say sappily.

  “Aw, you have?”

  “Of course. Plus, you’re about to get your jaw cracked open in two days.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she says grimly. After a slight beat, she adds, “These past few weeks have sucked. I’ve really missed you too, Mads.”

  I hold out my arms. “Let’s hug it out.”

  And so we do. We hug it out like Ari Gold and call a truce.

  Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I hop on her bed and sit cross-legged, Buddha style. Just like old times.

  Kars resumes packing.

  Leaning back, I reach for the Opi nail polish I spy resting on her side table. “Nice color...Black Cherry Chutney.”

  She giggles. “Isn’t that hot? I was in the mood for some Indian lovin’. And guess what else I’ve got?” She waves another bottle of Opi. “This one is Curry Up, Don’t Be Late.”

  “Oooohhh, I like that color.”

  “You can use it anytime.”

  “And you’re welcome to use my Pink-O de Gallo Opi if you’d like,” I offer.

  “Give me some sexy Latin lovin’.” Kars swivels her hips in a disjointed manner. “C’mon, join me and do the salllllllllssssssa.”

  Without meaning to, I burst out laughing.

  Kars is the worst salsa dancer in the cosmic universe; she has as much rhythm, grace and finesse as an elephant stomping to a ballet. But then again, I’m no better.

  “Get on your feet and sallllllllssssssssa,” she rolls her tongue.

  “Um, can’t you see I’m busy?” I apply a first coat. “So, are you nervous about the surgery?”

  “A little.” She abandons the salsa dancing and bounces on the bed. “Now, do you want to know what the best part is?”

  “What?” I carefully apply Black Cherry Chutney on my pinky toenail.

  “Losing weight!” she exclaims brightly. “I’ll be on this all-liquid diet for the next six weeks since my jaw will be wired shut. Girrrl, you’ll see me shed some major pounds. The fat will just melt off my body!”

  I’m glad Kars is taking this in stride. Although I’m slightly nervous about her impending surgery, I don’t share any of my concerns with her. She’ll be going to hell and back and I need to keep her spirits up.

  “Maybe I’ll go on the liquid diet to keep you company,” I hear myself saying.

  “You’re such a doll,” she cries with delight. “Maddy, we are going to turn into some skinny bitches!”

  Half-laughing, I raise an imaginary wine glass. “Here’s to us becoming skinny bitches.”

  “To skinny bitches!” Karsynn echoes, beaming at me.

  Ten

  Beep!

  “Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy. How can I help?”

  “I WANT TO KNOW WHY THE HELL MY PASSWORD IS NOT WORKING. YOUR SITE TELLS ME I’M LOCKED OUT! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

  “Okay sir, I can help with that. Let me just verify you first.”

  “FINE!” He makes a guttural sound of protest.

  I flinch and run through the painful process of verifying the beast. Then I pull up the ‘Crystal Ball’ app which tracks our callers’ log in attempts. It’s a pretty nifty tool; it gives me the precise date and time that a caller logs in, along with his city, state, country and IP address.

  I type the caller’s info into my gypsy app and wait.

  Seconds later, the Crystal Ball tells me that a mustachioed gigolo will come into my life. Mwahahaha. Okay, back to business.

  Apparently, the caller used the wrong password.

  Several times actually.

  It is crystal clear. The Ball does not lie.

  “Sir, according to our records, the incorrect password was entered three times. So that’s why your password is suspended. All you need to do is—”

  I DID NOT ENTER THE WRONG PASSWORD!”

  “Well sir, it’s quite possible that someone else could’ve entered the wrong password. Have you, by chance, shared your log in info with anyone?”

  “NO ONE ELSE HAS MY INFO!”

  “Have you responded to any phishing attempts? Perhaps you have a virus on your computer.”

  He barks, “I DO NOT HAVE A VIRUS!”

  I’m compelled to say, “Sir, you may not have a virus, but your computer may.” But of course I don’t. Instead I say, “Well, if no one else has your info and your computer is clean, then...” I pause and continue with some hesitation, “Um, then I’m afraid it was probably you that entered the wrong password.”

  He draws in his breath with a loud hiss. “I said it wasn’t me. Are you calling me a liar?” His tone is threatening.

  “Err, no…” I say feebly, even though I want to yell, “YES! YOU’RE A LIAR! I HAVE PROOF THAT YOU ENTERED THE INCORRECT PASSWORD THREE TIMES. THE HITS ON OUR SERVER MATCH YOUR IP ADDRESS!”

  “So, if I did NOT enter the wrong password, then EXPLAIN WHY I AM LOCKED OUT!”

  “It’s quite possible that your password got corrupted,” I bullshit.

  “Corrupted?” he guffaws.

  “Yes,” I inform him in a tone that is so convincing that even I, myself, am convinced. “Corrupted,” I repeat, unwavering.

  As call center tradition goes, the customer is always right. It has been drilled into my fat head. Thus, it is imperative that I bullshit. If all else fails, always blame the tool, but never, ever blame the carpenter.

  Hah! Too late for me; I’ve already made the fatal mistake of blaming the crazed carpenter.

  “HOW CAN MY PASSWORD BE CORRUPTED?” he erupts once again.

  Jeez, take a chill pill dude. It’s only a password.

  I continue bullshitting my way out of this since he leaves me no other option. “Well sir, think of it this way—your password is like a car. Your car will not run smoothly forever. There are times when your car will break down and simply refuse to start. Likewise with your password, there are times when your password will become corrupted and refuse to work,” I expostulate, surprising myself at my ability to produce fantastic amounts of BS that make perfect sense.

  Click!

  D’oh! He’ll just have to call back to reset his password.

  Feeling sorry for his next victim, I promptly log off my phone.

  Kars had her jaw surgery this morning and my stomach has been clenched in nerves all day. I’ve been worried sick.

  I glance at my watch. It’s not too late.

  Time to go pay my best friend a visit at the hospital.

 
; It’s almost 10 p.m. when I arrive at St. Mary’s hospital. A nurse at the front desk directs me to Karsynn’s recovery room. Although I brace myself for the worst, I am not in the least bit prepared for what I see when I walk in. Poor Kars looks like she’s been hit by a UPS truck. Her eyes are shut, but they look puffy and swollen; and her whole face is wrapped up in rolls of bandages.

  I bite my inner lip and swallow hard. After composing myself, I tiptoe in and take a seat next to Janis. She’s slumped forward in a chair, appearing to be fast asleep.

  Although I try not to make a peep, she stirs and sits up.

  “Hey sweetie,” she whispers groggily.

  “Hi. How is she?”

  “She’s doing all right. They gave her some morphine to help manage the pain.”

  We sit in silence, watching Kars in her deep slumber.

  Eventually, I ask, “Will Kars have to stay here a while?”

  “No. Just for tonight, she’ll be coming home with me tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? Kars looks like she should be here for another week. At least. “So soon?” I ask in a strangled voice.

  “Yes dear. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Her bandages will come off tomorrow.” Janis manages a tiny smile and adds, “Last night, Kars made me cook up a storm. She said it was her last hurrah before six grueling weeks of soft, bland food.” Janis gives a heavy sigh. “That all-liquid diet will be hard on her.”

  “Before I forget to ask, what sort of liquids can Kars have?”

  “Let me check, I wrote it down here somewhere…” She roots around in her handbag. “Aha! Here it is!” She dredges up a piece of paper. “It’s called Ensure; it’s some sort of protein shake that’s infused with vitamins and minerals.”

  I make a mental note of it and decide to take my leave. Kars and Janis need their rest. “Well, I’ll get going now. But I’ll stop by Costco tomorrow and pick up some Ensure.”

  “Thanks, Maddy. That’s very kind of you.”

  I tread softly to Karsynn’s side. Gently, I place a sprig of fresh basil next to her pillow. I pinched it off her Aerogarden today.

  Janis stands up and envelops me in a hug. “Thanks for coming sweetie. I’ll let her know you stopped by.”

  My arms tighten around her and I blink back the tears.

  “Kars will be okay,” Janis says softly.

  “I’ll stop by your place tomorrow,” I say in a hushed voice and quietly make my exit.

  Lugging ten cases of Ensure to Janis’ front doorstep is proving to be a pain. But that’s how you save money, by buying in bulk.

  And today I learned that Costco can not only save you money in life, but it can save you money even in death.

  While perusing the aisles, I walked by some caskets!

  Caskets. You heard me right. Costco sells discount caskets.

  For some inexplicable reason, I stopped by a casket kiosk and browsed the samples. A dark mahogany casket caught my eye. It was fully pimped out with gold and silver trimmings, and upon closer inspection, I discovered the upholstered interior featured an adjustable mattress and silk cushions for neck comfort.

  I thought to myself, “Now why on earth would I even care? I’d be a corpse.” And while flipping through the casket catalog, I happened upon an interesting caption: Eternal Rest.

  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

  Curiously, I find myself still laughing right now, hysterically actually, slightly delirious from fatigue. And by the time I’m done hauling all these cases of Ensure, I probably will need a Costco casket.

  Ding! Dong!

  Janis flings the door open and gawps when she comes face to face with ten cases of Ensure, stacked to the sky.

  “Tah-dah!” I exclaim. My eyes shine with pride at the sight of my miniature Ensure State Building.

  For several seconds, Janis gapes at the towering structure.

  Then she whips her head and stares at me, and then back at the structure again.

  “Kars will need to drink plenty of this stuff. And I got some for myself too.” I shrug. “I figure we won’t be needing groceries for a month since I’ll be going on this Ensure diet with Kars.”

  She shoots me a circumspect look. “It’s nice that you’re being a supportive friend, but this liquid diet is gruesome. Are you sure you can commit?”

  “Of course!” I say firmly. I mean, how hard can it be? Whenever I’m hungry, I’ll just crack open a can of Ensure.

  Janis shakes her head and ushers me into the foyer. “Kars is upstairs in my bedroom watching TV. Go on up, I’ll put these away.”

  Obediently, I start for the stairs.

  I’d normally insist on helping Janis, but I’m pressed for time. I have to leave for work in exactly thirty five minutes.

  The door to Janis’ bedroom is ajar and I spy Karsynn through the opening, propped up on a La-Z Boy. The TV screen is flickering, but she’s staring off into space with a faraway look in her eyes. As I stand there observing her, tears begin to well up.

  Her entire face is swollen; and her pearly, alabaster skin is now gaunt and sanguine.

  Karsynn angles her head slightly and spots me. Instantly, her eyes come to life. “Hey you,” she mumbles, and with her attempt to say those two words, her nose starts bleeding uncontrollably.

  “Kars!” I cry in alarm. “Don’t try to talk!”

  Oh God. Blood continues gushing out of her nose. In a panic, I grab several wads of tissue and stuff them into her hands.

  I tut and fuss about her. “You need anything else?”

  She shakes her head and jams tissue up her nostrils.

  “I’ll talk. You just listen, okay?”

  She nods and fervently points to her iPhone.

  I hand it to her and watch as she deftly thumbs in a text. Within seconds, my phone blares with Springsteen crooning Born in the USA. Springsteen’s hit is set as my ring tone and I blame the call center for this travesty. All the callers have me convinced that I’m born in India. Every time I inform them that I’m in Idaho, and not India, they flat out refuse to believe me.

  Whipping out my BlackBerry, I read Karsynn’s text:

  Don’t feel sorry for me. I feel sorry for u, having 2 go in 2 work & get on d bleepin’ phones.

  “Oh, Kars,” I gush. “You are one broken jawed trooper.”

  In response, she gives me two thumbs up. Then she picks up her iPhone and rapidly texts away. Once again, my BlackBerry blares with Springsteen’s raspy voice.

  My cheeks look like a chipmunk preparing 4 winter.

  “No they don’t!” I protest, but Kars doesn’t appear to be the least bit convinced.

  I watch her nimble and dexterous thumbs work in tandem; then I hear The Boss croon for the third time.

  It’s much much worse than I ever imagined :-(

  When I look up, I can see the pain in her eyes. I plant my hands on her trembling shoulders, searching her eyes through the flood of tears.

  “You’ll be okay,” I soothe.

  She remains inconsolable. Heaving and choking, tears continue splashing down her swollen cheeks.

  “You’ll be okay, Kars,” I repeat.

  Stifling a sob, she nods slightly.

  I gather her into my arms, and she hugs me back hard.

  Eleven

  Ding!

  I have a new email in my Outlook inbox.

  Usually, I’m inundated with mindless emails that I can’t be bothered to read. But this particular one is a splendid treat. It’s an email from our site director Richard ‘Just-Call-Me-Dick’ Jones. Every time I read his emails, I’m simply appalled by all the spelling errors made by someone in upper management.

  C’mon already, you cannot rely on the spell checker. It is not foolproof. And just because you spell a word correctly, it does not mean that it is the correct word.

  I skim his email for all the errors.

  Cha-Ching! This one is a gold mine.

  To: All employees

  From: Richard.Jones@lsc.com

>   Subject: Congratulations Alicia Sparks

  Please join me in welcoming Alicia Sparks who has just excepted the managerial position for the graveyard shift. This is a very impotent position and I’m vary confident that Alicia will succeed in fool filling all the golds we have set fourth. Alicia brings with her a welt of experience. She holes a degree in unclear physics and she has worked in a call center for moor then fifteen years. Further moor, Alicia has held a position as a teem lead for too years. Were very happy two have her on bored.

  Dick Jones,

  Site Director, Pocatello ID

  “Truong, have you read the email from Dick Jones?”

  “No,” he replies absently.

  “Read it!” I say gleefully. “It’s littered with spelling errors.”

  Truong clicks it open. “Let’s see, what have we got here...um, unclear physics? Well, I’ve never understood physics myself.” He snorts. “And why would someone with a degree in nuclear physics want to work in this dump?”

  “Who knows?” I shrug. “Hopefully she can spell.”

  Truong catches another error. “Impotent? D’oh, did he mean important?”

  “I know.” I snigger. “I wonder if it’s a Freudian slip.”

  “Too bad Dick didn’t try to spell public,” he smirks and plugs away at his keyboard. Moments later, Truong jabs his mouse pad with a flourish. “I just sent you an email.”

  I click it open.

  From: Truong.Nguyen@lsc.com

  To: Madison.Lee@lsc.com

  Subject: mis-spellers

  Edumacation is vary impotent four you. Stay in pubic skool.

  p/s—I cunt except people who cunt spell. Day rally irrigate me.

  pp/s—Two Bee Ore Knot Two Bee, that is the question my fwend.

  I roll with laughter. Dick sure out-dicked himself today. I’m sure nothing can top that email, but I am in for a pleasant surprise when Outlook alerts me to a new email from none other than Dick Jones. Still exhilarated by Dick’s first email, I proceed to read his second one.