by Lisa Lim
“Is this Blinky Fiore?”
“The very one. Is this Madison? Maddy the Minx from my training class?”
“That’s me!” I squeal with delight. “I can’t believe it’s you Blinky! It’s been so long.”
Blinky was in my training class, and she had to leave rather abruptly during our third week of training, because her twins were born two months prematurely.
Everyone in class loved Blinky; she always had us in stitches and her spot on imitations of Glenn the Bland trainer brought the house down. She is also legendary for her hoots. It starts out as a mild giggle, then it crescendos into a high pitched hoot slash shriek of epic proportions. Belinda is actually her real name, but she prefers to be called Blinky, after the three-eyed orange fish from the Simpsons, mutated by a nearby nuclear plant.
Ordinarily, I would have to keep everything business-like and robot-like, but since I’m fully covered on my QA monitors, I can act like a normal person and interact with my long lost friend.
“Maddy!” she booms. “It’s so good to hear your voice again.”
“You too Blinky! How are your twins?”
“Homer and Marge are doing just great. Did you see the first batch of pictures I posted on Facebook?”
“Yes. They are so flippin’ cute. When will you post more pics?”
“Soon. I hauled them over to Kiddie Kandids today.”
“I can’t wait to see,” I gush.
Truong scoffs, “I can’t stand it when people post pics of their newly born naked rats on Facebook. I like my newsfeed to be a baby free zone.”
I roll my eyes at him. I simply adore baby pics!
My cubicle calendar features pictures of happy, cherubic babies posing in flower pots and wheelbarrows.
“How are things over there in customer service?” asks Blinky.
I laugh mirthlessly. “Not that great.”
“That’s too bad,” she tuts. “Whose team are you on?”
“Hillary’s Third Reich,” I groan morosely.
She hoots like a hyena. “Ah yes, I’ve heard that she’s the Not Ready Nazi. I have to ask you though, when she walks into a room, do you click your heels and clap your thighs together, and yell HEIL HILLARY?”
“No, but I’m still a P.O.W in this labor camp, and Hillary is still a fascist pig.”
Sometimes, I wish I was in a different department. Blinky is so lucky to be in Billings. After she returned from maternity leave, she managed to get transferred.
“Do you like it over there in Billings, Blinks?”
“It’s okay. At least my supervisor is nothing like yours. But it kind of sucks; we have to sell over here too.”
“You do?” I cry in astonishment. I was under the impression they didn’t have to sell. “Sell what?”
“Credit cards,” she moans peevishly. “Some of my callers have a hard time even paying their bills, and I’m still forced to sell them credit cards.”
I shake my head. “I guess there’s no escaping it.”
“No there isn’t,” she says with an aggrieved air, imprisoned too by this madness.
“Okay, I guess you better transfer the caller,” I say ruefully.
I could go on chatting with Blinky forever, but I don’t want the poor customer to be on hold for much longer.
She breathes out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I guess I better.”
“It’s been great catching up with you, Blinky.”
“You too! And try to stay alive over there.”
“I’ll try,” I say half-heartedly.
“Next time Hillary is mean to you, say this: Halt! Lassen sie mich die unterlagen für ihren schnurrbart sehen.”
I stifle a laugh. “What does that mean?”
She hoots. “It means ‘Halt! Let me see the documentation for your moustache’.” Then she immediately brings the caller on the line, and her tone is all serious and business-like. “Sir, thank you so much for holding. I have Maddy on the line with us now. She’s a very good friend of mine, and she’ll be assisting you from here.”
“Bye-bye, Blinky,” I manage between sputters, laughing like a loon, trying hard to compose myself so I can assist the caller.
This past week has pretty been rough, with my left eye getting progressively worse. It’s red, it’s sore, and it hurts like crazy. At first, I chalked it up to computer eye fatigue for the simple fact that my job requires me to stare at a monitor for eight hours a day. But by Thursday, my left eye is so severely inflamed and the pain is so unbearable, that I just know something is seriously wrong. I immediately make an appointment with an ophthalmologist and the receptionist at his clinic manages to squeeze me into a slot tomorrow.
The next morning, Kars gives me a ride to the eye doc’s office. My vision has become so impaired that I’m certain I’d cause a pile up on the freeway if I’m at the wheel.
We arrive at Okelberry Vision Center unharmed and intact.
In the waiting room, I find myself observing the folks around me (through my one good eye), and I’m shocked. Aside from me and Karsynn, not a single person here is under sixty.
Kars nudges me. “Psssst. You’re here along with all the senior citizens suffering from age-related macular degeneration; they’re here for cataract surgery!” She snorts derisively. “Just like you!”
I shoot daggers her way, but it doesn’t really have the desired effect when pus is oozing out of one eye.
Flummoxed, Kars hands me a Kleenex. “Calm down, Maddy. I don’t want you going blind on me, ya hear?”
“Madison Lee?” The nurse looks up from her pad.
I stand up and trot into a dark den.
After I relay all my symptoms to Dr. Okelberry, he performs a slit eye exam on my butchered orb. Minutes later, he diagnoses me with Ocular Herpes, also known as Herpes of the Eye.
“Herpes? I cannot have herpes!” Is the first thing that flies out of my mouth.
He offers me a kind smile. “It is nothing to worry about. Herpes simplex is a pretty common virus. It’s the same virus that causes the cold sores that you get in your mouth.”
“Oh,” I say with a puzzled frown. “But what causes it?”
“Stress can trigger it.” He regards me. “Now have you been stressed at all lately?”
Hillary has been doing side-by-sides with me for the past several weeks. On top of that, I have all these unattainable sales quotas I’m forced to meet. So, to answer his question, “Yes, I’ve been feeling considerably over stressed lately.”
Dr. Okelberry prescribes some antiviral eye drops to treat my infected eye and sends me on my way home. I spend my entire weekend holed up in my dungeon of a room, with the lights off and venetian blinds shut, willing the horrible Herpes to go away.
On Monday, I troop into work with an eye patch, much like Tom Cruise in Valkyrie. A word to the wise—wearing an eye patch is extremely uncomfortable. But I’ve no choice; I need to shield my Herpes eye from the glaring outdoor sunlight, as well as the garish indoor fluorescent lighting.
Truong’s chin drops at the sight of me. “What the balls?!?”
“I have Ocular Herpes,” I say, straining to see out of one eye.
There is a moment of silence as he blatantly stares at my eye patch. Then he throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Maddy, please don’t go around saying that you have Ocular Herpes. People will think that you got poked in the eye with your boyfriend’s snake.”
I roll my one good eye. “Shut up, Truong! I don’t even have a boyfriend. Plus I have Ocular herpes. And it’s not the same as the STD.”
“It is a STD if you got poked in the eye with Mika’s snake,” he taunts. “Oh my God, I cannot believe Mika gave you herpes.”
“Stop saying that!” I hiss and steal a quick glance at Mika, who thankfully appears to be preoccupied with a call.
Good. I don’t want him seeing me like this.
Truong arches an eyebrow. “Speaking of snakes, do you think Mika has an anaconda or a rattlesnake in his tro
users?”
I shake my head in utter amazement. Typical. This is classic Truong. He’ll veer the topic to penises, balls, and asses whenever the opportunity arises.
Hurriedly, I log in to my apps before The Führer cracks her whip.
While my Crystal Ball app is chugging along, Truong turns to me and asks, “What type of snake do you think I have?” He rearranges his scarf that’s loosely draped over his Lacoste shirt. “Flatter me, Maddy.”
Truong is totally asking for it. “Snake? You mean worm?”
His eyes widen like a hurt puppy. Stepping forward, he swats me in the face with his scarf, whipping it like Bruce Lee with a nunchuck.
“Stop it!” I protest, half laughing.
Eventually, Truong stops with a “Hi-Yah!” Then bizarrely, he begins quoting Bruce Lee, “Maddy, you need to empty your mind; be formless, shapeless like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup; you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle; you put it into a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Water can flow, or it can crash. Be water, my Maddy friend.”
I blink. On impulse, I reach for my bottle of Evian and chuck the contents in his face.
For several seconds, Truong fixes me with a murderous glare as water drips down his cheeks. Suddenly, he lunges forward—
Beep!
He freezes mid-air and I flash him a toothy grin.
“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications. This is Maddy. How can I help?”
“Can you speak up young lady? I cannot hear a word you’re saying,” croaks the caller.
I crank up the volume. Way, way up to its highest setting.
“Thank you for calling. My name is Maddy, what can I do for you?” I say, this time an octave higher.
“I still can’t hear you,” the caller shrills with irritation.
“THANKS FOR CALLING. THIS IS MADDY. HOW CAN I HELP?” I practically yell.
“That’s a little better,” mutters the caller.
Sheesh. And so for the rest of the call, I find myself screaming at the top of my lungs. Why oh why don’t these deaf people get some hearing aids so I don’t have to yell at them? I’m a mild mannered, soft spoken person, and it’s not my nature to yell. And, it’s starting to get to me. All this yelling is so darn exhausting.
I pop a lemon mint Ricola and suck on it to soothe my aching throat.
This job has also made me partially deaf. I can barely hear out of my right ear—the ear my headpiece is glued to for eight hours a day. Sometimes, I hear a sharp ringing sound and I’ve had to amp up the volume on my headset, just so I can hear my callers. And even so, there are times when they sound so far away. Like when you put a seashell up to your ear and listen really hard, you hear the ocean. That’s what some of my calls sound like...big waves crashing against the shore.
Beep!
“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy. What can I do for you today?”
“I can barely hear you,” says the caller crossly.
I draw in my breath with a hiss. Oh God, no. Not another deaf person. But this is even worse. “I can barely hear you either.” I raise my voice several decibels.
“I need help with my…” The caller’s voice sounds so faded and garbled that I miss half of what he’s saying.
“What did you just say again sir?” I strain my ears to listen.
“What did you just say?” he fires back in an agitated tone.
This goes on for an hour. This exacerbating ridiculosity!
During a brief interval, the caller gasps in surprise, “Oh! I’ve been holding the phone UPSIDE DOWN!”
I slap my forehead.
He chortles, seemingly tickled by this. “And here I thought I was going deaf.”
I find myself laughing deliriously. And here I thought I was going deafer. When I signed up for this job, I knew that being yelled at was par for the course. But I did not anticipate this at all. Having to scream at customers who talk with their phones upside down? Callers who are literally deaf. Deaf I tell you!
And I most certainly did not expect to become deaf myself.
Or partially blind for that matter.
Perhaps this is a sign that I need to move on. I’ve been on the phones for almost a year now, and I feel brain dead. I don’t even have to think anymore and I’m certain I can do my job blindfolded, with both hands tied behind my back. If it wasn’t for the novels I read that bring me a much needed escape, and for Truong’s delightful and enigmatic company, I’d probably die of boredom.
Honestly, my job is so easy that even a monkey could do it.
Actually, a monkey could probably do it better.
And like Tiger Woods, once I’ve conquered something, I get bored and restless and desire to conquer something else. Only difference is, I aim to conquer higher than Tiger does…something other than strippers and Vegas cocktail waitresses.
Plus, Hillary still insists on doing side-by-sides with me, and it’s catapulting me into a nut house.
And there are other issues that irk me, namely having to sell. If I don’t make my sales quotas for three months in a row, I’m fired. Just like that.
So it’s time I jump ship or sink with it.
The words of Barack Obama ring loud and clear in my deaf ear…Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.
Yeah Mister President! Say it like it is! Sitting up straighter, I square my shoulders and resolve that it’s time for change!
Onward and upward!
And I know just the place I want to go.
“Hey, Truong. Did you see the two postings for Second Level Techs? I think I’m going to apply.”
Lately, I’ve been eyeing the wireless headsets that these smug technicians parade around in.
They are the envy of all the minions who covet their wireless headsets. They have the freedom to roam and wander wherever their hearts desire, whilst the rest of us are chained to our desks by our non-wireless headsets.
At the mere sight of a wireless headset, my pulse quickens and my palms get sweaty. I feel faint, breathless. I feel all hot, heavy and bothered. Ahh…my lust for one has never ceased.
I dream of one and I drool for one. I must have one. I MUST!
Suddenly, a techie saunters by with a wireless headset, and I stand stock still with a look of pure rapture on my face.
YOU WILL BE MINE WIRELESS HEADSET. Angry fist shake. YOU WILL!
I’m still waiting for a response from Bruce Lee, but he’s been oddly quiet. “Truong,” I croak, my voice cracking and splitting.
Nothing. No reply.
“TRUONG!” I shout with a strained expression.
Finally, he shoots me one of his infamous I’m-far-too-busy-for-this-conversation looks.
“Please don’t make me yell, okay? I’ve been yelling at all these deaf callers all day.” I pop another Ricola in my mouth. “So did you see the posting or not?”
His response is tepid to say the least. “Uh-huh, why?”
“I need a wireless headset,” I say with dire passion. “And the best part about being a second level techie is that you don’t have to sell!”
But Truong doesn’t appear to be sold on the idea. In fact, I’m rather taken aback when he turns weepy and whiny. “But if you get the techie position, you won’t sit by me no more. Don’t leave me, bitch.” He pouts profusely.
“It won’t matter,” I assure him. “Hullo? With a wireless, I can stop by and visit you anytime!”
“Sure you will,” he says dubiously.
“Hey!” I have a brain wave. “Why don’t you apply too?”
“Me? No,” he says dismissively. “They make you take a test and I probably won’t pass it.”
“C’mon, Truong,” I beg, falling to my knees. “This job is just so stressful. We have all these unrealistic sales quotas and, by the way, this job is making me deaf. Maybe even partially blind.” I point t
o my eye patch. “And don’t you want a change? A challenge?”
His hand flies up in protest. “No! No! I like my job now. I don’t have to think and I like it that way. Thinking hurts my brain, plus I don’t mind the selling part. I’m actually quite good at it.”
Humph. He is resisting. I decide to switch tactics by dangling a big fat carrot in front of him. “With a wireless headset, you’ll be able to use the restroom and take calls. Imagine that! You won’t have to hold it in anymore.”
Truong considers this briefly. After hemming and hawing, he says, “No, there’s no way I can pass the test. I suck at math.”
“Fine. But I’m still going to apply,” I say steadfastly.
Single minded in my quest for a wireless headset, I fervidly fill out the online application.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he tuts and shoots me a look of forewarning. “Those techies are arrogant bastards. They act as if they’re in their own exclusive country club. Really. They think they’re better than everyone else.”
“Well they are better than everyone else,” I quip. “They have wireless headsets and we don’t!”
Over my break, I ambush Kars and begin recruiting her.
“C’mon Kars!” I seize her fiercely by the shoulders. “Think of all the fun and freedom we can have with a wireless headset.”
“But I don’t want to be on the phones anymore,” she howls in protest. “They posted seven team lead positions and I’m going for it.”
“Tsch-tsch.” I shake my head. “It’s so hard to get a team lead position. There’s too much politics involved, and you have to suck up to all the right people.”
“And I have, trust me. I’ve been puffing like a chimney to get in their good gra—” she breaks off when she meets my eye.
“Kars!” I chide. “I thought you quit smoking?”
“I did, but I started again as soon as they posted the position. Maddy, I need to be a team lead; it’s my only way out. I hate being on the phones.”
I give her a tight-lipped smile. “As soon as you get the lead position, you’ll quit smoking again, right?”
Kars crosses her heart. “Right. It’s only temporary since I’m immersing myself in their lifestyle. But once they see that I’m one of them, I should be able to ace the interview and secure the position,” she says like she’s some sort of covert FBI agent on a clandestine operation. She lowers her voice, “I’m incognito. You know the saying—if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck...”