“I swear I didn't write this,” Bakshi said as he scrambled with his mouse and keyboard.
“Then who wrote it? Santa Claus? The tooth fairy?” Vroom shouted and stood up. “Explain it to the police, journalists, and via video conference to our Boston office.”
“Hah! Look, I've deleted it,” Bakshi said with a smug smile as he released his computer mouse.
“Come on, Bakshi,” Vroom said with a sigh, “it's still in your ‘Deleted Items’ folder.”
“Oh,” Bakshi said and jerked his mouse. A few clicks later he said, “There, it's gone.”
Vroom smiled. “One more tip for you, Bakshi. Go to your ‘Deleted Items’, select the ‘Tools’ menu and choose the ‘Recover Deleted Items’ option. The mail will still be there,” Vroom said.
Bakshi's face showed panic again as he tried to follow Vroom's instructions. He clicked his mouse over and over again.
“Oh, stop it, Bakshi. The mail is in my inbox as well. And Vroom has many printouts,” Esha said.
“Huh?” Bakshi looked like a scared rabbit. “You'll never get away with this. Esha, you know I didn't do it. You wear tight skirts and tops, but I only look at them from a distance. Even those jeans that show your waist, I only saw—”
“Stop right there, you sicko,” Esha said.
“You can't get away with this,” Bakshi said.
“We have five witnesses, Bakshi, and all of them will support Esha's testimony,” I said.
“Oh, and we have some other evidence as well. In Esha's drawer there is a packet full of cash, it has your fingerprints on it, in case we get that far,” Vroom said.
Bakshi's fingers trembled as if he was getting ready to play the drums.
“We also have a printout of your visits to pornographic websites,” Radhika said.
“You know it's not me, Esha. I'll be proven innocent,” Bakshi said, his voice sounding like a hapless beggar's. He looked as if he was about to cry.
“Maybe. But the amazing publicity will be enough to screw your career. Good-bye Boston,” I said and waved my hand to indicate farewell. Everyone else raised their hand and waved good-bye as well.
Bakshi looked at us in horror and sat down. His white face had now turned red, or rather purple, even though it was still as shiny as ever. I could see a nerve twitching on the side of his forehead and felt an urge to make him suffer more. I stood up and selected a thick management book from his bookshelf.
I went up to Bakshi and stood next to him.
“Why are you doing this to me? I'll be leaving you forever to go to Boston,” Bakshi said.
“Boston?” I said. “You don't deserve a posting to Bhatinda. You don't even deserve a job. In fact, one could argue you don't deserve to live. You're not just a bad boss, you're a parasite: to us, to this company, to this country. Damn you.”
I banged the management book hard on his head. Bak-shi's head was hollow, and the impact made a big noise. God, it felt good. Few people in this world get to hit their boss, but those who do will tell you it's better than sex.
“What do you want? Do you want to destroy me?” Bakshi said, rubbing his head. “I have a family and two kids. After a lot of effort my career is going fine. My wife wants to leave me anyway. Don't destroy me, I'm human too.”
I disagreed with Bakshi's last remark. I didn't think he was human at all.
“Destroying you is a good option,” Vroom said, “but we have more worthwhile goals for now. I want to do a deal with you. We bury this issue and in return you do something for us.”
“What kind of thing?” Bakshi said.
“One, I want to have control of the call center for the next two hours. I need to get on the Tannoy,” said Vroom.
“The one management uses to make fire-drill announcements,” I said.
“Why? Will you announce this e-mail?” Bakshi said.
“No, you moron. It's to save jobs at the call center. Now, can I use the Tannoy?”
“Yes. What else?”
“I want you to write out a resignation letter for Shyam and me. Layoffs or not, we are leaving Connections.”
“Are you guys leaving right now?” the girls said.
“Yes. Shyam and I are going to start a small website design business. Right, Shyam?” Vroom said.
“Yes,” I said. Wow! I thought.
“Good. And this time, no one will take the credit for our websites except ourselves,” Vroom said and slapped Bakshi's face. Bakshi's face turned sixty degrees from the impact. He held his cheeks but remained silent, apart from one tiny, dry sob. His facial expression had a combination of 90 percent pain and 10 percent shame.
“May I?” I said.
“Be my guest,” Vroom said.
Slap! I gave Bakshi's face a good slap, too, and it swung sixty degrees in the other direction.
“So you'll write the resignation letter, OK?” Vroom said.
“OK,” Bakshi said, rubbing his cheek. “But Esha will delete the e-mail, right?”
“Wait. We're not finished. Our business will require start-up capital, so we need a severance package of six months' salary. Understand?” Vroom said.
“I can't do six months. It's unprecedented for agents,” Bakshi said.
“New Delhi TV or Times of India, you pick,” Vroom said as he took out his phone.
“Six months is possible. Good managers break precedents,” Bakshi said. I guess no amount of slaps could halt his jargon.
“Nice. Now the last thing, I want you to retract the rightsizing proposal. Arrange a call with Boston. Ask them to postpone the layoffs to try a new sales-driven recovery plan for Connections.”
“I can't do that,” Bakshi said.
Vroom lifted his mobile phone and put it in front of Bakshi's face.
“I'll make sure all of India knows your name by tomorrow,” Vroom said. “Listen, I don't care about this job, but there are agents with kids, families, and responsibilities in life. You can't just fire them. They are people, not resources. Now, which news channel is your favorite?”
“Give me half an hour. I'll set up a call with Boston,” Bakshi said.
“Good. We'll bury the e-mail. But make sure you get the hell out of this call center, this city, and this country as fast as you can. We need a new boss, a normal, decent, inspiring human being and not a slimy, bloodsucking goofball with a fancy degree.”
Bakshi nodded while continuously wiping the sweat from his face.
“Good. Anything else? Did you have something to ask me about my monitor?” Vroom said.
“Monitor? What monitor?” Bakshi said.
Chapter 33
5:15 a.m.
BAKSHI GAVE VROOM THE KEY to the broadcast room and then got straight on the phone to Boston to arrange a management meeting. I had never seen him work so efficiently.
Vroom went to the broadcast room and switched on the mikes while I went to the main computer bay to check for sound quality.
“Hello, everyone. May I have your attention, please? This is Vroom, from the strategic group.” Vroom's voice echoed through Connections and all the agents looked up at the speakers while still talking to their customers.
“Sorry to bother you, but we have an emergency. This is about the layoffs. Can you please disconnect all your calls?” the speaker said.
Everyone heard the word layoffs and a thousand calls ended at the same time. New calls flashed, but no one picked them up. Vroom continued:
“Idiots have been managing this place up until now and it's because of their mistakes that more than a third of you will lose your jobs tonight. It doesn't seem fair to me, does it seem fair to you?”
There was no response.
“Come on, guys, I want to hear you. Do I have your support to save your jobs and this call center?”
The agents all looked at each other, still in partial disbelief. There was a weak “yes.”
“Louder, guys, all together. Do I have your support?” Vroom said.
“Yes!” a collect
ive scream rocked Connections.
I was standing at the corner of the main bay and all the agents had their eyes glued to the fire-drill speaker. Vroom continued, this time in a firmer voice.
“Thank you. My friends, don't you find it strange? The world's strongest and smartest people sitting here. An entire generation up all night, providing crutches for the white morons to run their lives. And why do we do this? So that we can buy stuff—junk food, colored fizzy water, dumbass credit cards and overpriced shoes. They call it youth culture. Is this what they think youth is? Two generations ago, it was the young who made this country free—now that was something meaningful. But then what happened? We have been reduced to a high-spending demographic. The only youth power they care about is our spending power,” Vroom said, and even I was amazed at the attention the agents were giving him.
Vroom continued, “Meanwhile bad bosses and stupid
Americans suck the life blood out of our country's most productive generation. But tonight we'll show them. And for that I need your support. Tell me, are you ready to work hard for the next two hours?”
“Yes!” a collective voice came back. The whole call center vibrated as Vroom paused to take a breath.
“Good, then listen. This call center will survive only if we can increase our call traffic, and my plan is to scare the Americans into calling us. Tell them that terrorists have hit America with a new computer virus that threatens to take their country down. The only way they can stay safe is to keep calling us to report their status. We'll do it like this: pull out every customer number you have and call them. I'll send you a call script on e-mail in the next five minutes, but until then, dig out those numbers,” Vroom said.
Noise levels rose in the main bay as hundreds of localized conversations took place simultaneously. There was a frenzy as people printed off all the customer numbers on their database. Nobody was sure if the plan would work, but people were willing to try anything to avoid losing their jobs.
Vroom and I returned to our bay. He typed furiously on his computer and after a few minutes tapped on my shoulder.
“Check your e-mail,” Vroom said and pointed to my screen.
I opened my inbox. Vroom had sent the same e-mail to everyone in the call center.
Subject: Operation Yankee Fear
Dear All,
Operation Yankee Fear's single aim is to increase the incoming call traffic in the Connections call center, capitalizing on Americans being the biggest cowards on the planet. Hopefully this will prevent the planned mass layoffs and help us buy more time to improve our call rates by implementing a marketing exercise to find new clients.
Operation Yankee Fear cannot succeed without your 100 percent cooperation. So, please read the instructions below carefully and focus on making nonstop calls for the next two hours. When you call each customer, the key message you need to deliver is this:
Start with an apology for disturbing them on Thanksgiving Day.
State that “evil forces” of the world have unleashed a computer virus that threatens to attack every computer in America. This way the evil forces will be able to monitor every American and eventually destroy their economy. Tell them that, according to your information, the virus has already hit their computer.
If asked what the “evil forces” are, give vague explanations such as, “forces that want to harm the U.S.” or “organizations that threaten freedom of speech and liberty,” etc. Remember, the more vague you are, the greater the fear you will generate. Try to inject genuine panic into your voice.
In order to check whether the virus has hit them or not, ask them to carry out an MS Word test. Tell them to open an empty MS Word file, and type in =rand (200,99) and press enter. If a mass of text pops out, this signals that there is a virus located in their computer (Don't worry: the text WILL pop out—it's a proven bug in MS Word). After this, your customers will start shaking with fear.
Tell them you can save them from this virus as a) you are from India, and all Indians are good with computers, b) India has faced terrorism for years, and c) they are valued clients and you believe in customer service.
However, if they want our help, they must keep calling the Connections call center every six hours. Even if nothing happens, they should just call to letus know things are OK. (The shorter the calls, the better as far as we're concerned).
Once calls rise, I will speak to Boston about the sudden increase in traffic and recommend we postpone the layoffs for two months. After that, we can implement a revival strategy.
Cheers,
Varun @ WASG
Vroom grinned and winked at me as I finished reading the e-mail.
“What's with the MS Word trick?” I said.
“Try it, open a Word file,” Vroom said.
I opened an empty Word document and typed in =rand (200,99).
As soon as I pressed Enter, two hundred pages of text popped out. It was spooky, and went something like this:
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps .
“This is unbelievable. What is it?” I asked.
“I told you. It's a bug in MS Word. Nothing is perfect. Now just wait and watch the fun,” Vroom said.
Vroom's e-mail reached a thousand mailboxes and agents read it immediately.
Team leaders helped their agents by clarifying any doubts they had. Within minutes, agents were doing a job they knew only too well: calling people to deliver a message as fast as possible. I left my seat and passed by the main bay. I picked up random sentences from the telephone conversations.
“Hello, Mr. Williams, sorry to disturb you on Thanksgiving. I am from Western Computers with an urgent message. America is under a virus attack,” one agent said.
“Yes, sir. According to our records your computer has been affected …” said another.
“Don't worry, sir. But, yes, it looks like the evil forces have targeted you,” an eighteen-year-old agent said. “But we can save you.”
“Just keep calling us. Every four to six hours,” said one as she ended the call.
The more aggressive agents went a step further: “And I want you to tell all your friends and relatives. Yes, they can call us too.”
Some customers panicked and needed reassurance: “No problem. We will save this country. The evil forces will never succeed.”
A thousand agents, four minutes to a call—we could do 30,000 calls in two hours. If they called us every six hours, we would have over 100,000 calls a day. Even if it only lasted a week, we would hit our targets for the next two months. Hopefully, with a new manager and extra sales effort, Connections could be on its way to recovery, and for now no one would lose their job.
Vroom came looking for me in the main bay and we went back to the WASG. Vroom signaled me into the conference room.
“The response is amazing. We've only been calling for thirty minutes and traffic is up five times already,” Vroom said.
“Rocking, man,” I said. “You make me feel confident about our web design company. But let's go back to the desk. Why've you called me here?”
“We have to discuss the third private agenda.”
“What's that?” I said.
“The third agenda is for you. Don't you want Priyanka back?”
Chapter 34
5:30 a.m.
“No, PRIYANKA AND I ARE OVER,” I SAID.
“Be honest, dude. You spoke to God and everything.”
I looked down. Vroom waited until I said something.
“It doesn't matter if I want to or not. Look at my competition. How am I going to succeed against Mr
. Perfect Match Ganesh?”
“See, that's the problem. We all think Ganesh is Mr. Perfect, but nobody is perfect.”
“Yeah, right. A house with a pool, a car that costs more than ten years of my salary, freaking working for the world's top company—I don't see much imperfection in that.”
“Everyone has a flaw, dude. The trick is to find a flaw in Ganesh.”
“Well, how are we ever going to do that? And even if we find a flaw in him, what's the point? He's so good, Priyanka will still go for him,” I said.
“At least Priyanka will know she isn't making the perfect trade-off,” Vroom said.
I remained silent for two minutes. “Yes, but how do we find Ganesh's flaw?” I said and looked at my watch. It was 5:30 a.m.
“There must be a way,” Vroom said.
“The shift is over soon and Priyanka will go home. What are you planning to do? Hire a detective in Seattle?” I said, my voice irritated.
“Don't give up, Shyam,” Vroom said and patted my shoulder.
“I'm trying to forget Priyanka, but if you search within me there is still pain. Don't make it worse, Vroom.”
“Wow, what drama. Search within me, there is pain,” Vroom said and laughed.
“Let's go back to the bay,” I said.
“Hey, wait a minute. You just said search!'
“Yes, search within me, there is still pain. Pretty cheesy, I know. Why?” I said.
“Search. That's what we can do. Google will be our detective. Let's do a search on his name and see what comes out. There may be a few surprises.”
“What? You want to do a search for Ganesh?”
“Yes, but we need his full name. Let's find out his college as well. I think he got his Masters in computers in the U.S.,” he said and grabbed my shirt. “Come on, let's go.”
“Where?” I said, even as I let myself get dragged along.
“To the WASG bay,” Vroom said.
One Night at the Call Center Page 19