Bad Writer 2

"Hello, this is Ingrid, how can I help you?"

"Good morning, this is Karen, how can I help you?"

"This is Leslie, a wha you want?" This is how I wanted to answer the phone as one more American calls about their faulty cell phone or some error on their bill. Instead of saying that, I say, "Hello, this is Leslie, how can I help you?" making sure to put a little pep in my voice to make the pissed off customer think I really care.

Care my ass. Just two more hours, then I'm out of here, but out of here to what? That's the funny thing about my life, I'm so busy waiting to get out of one place or another. When I'm home, I want to be here and when I'm here, I want to be at home. My life has been reduced to my wanting to be somewhere else.

"Hello, hello?" a southern drawl crawls through my headset and yanks my attention back to the job. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," I say, my voice like the sugar that was my island's main industry. "My apologies, according to your account, you are in three months arrears and you have been disconnected. Would you like to make a payment to have your account reinstated?"

The answer was the sound of a dial tone. You got to love the Americans.

"What you doing this weekend?" Annette, the 20 year old besides me asks. Since she started working at The Call Center, she's been trying to make a friend out of me. I still haven't decided if I'm interested.

"Working," I reply.

"Saturday and Sunday?"

I shrug, "You know how it is." Thankfully her phone rings, I didn't want to go into the nonsensical conversation about how much we hate the job. During my first year here, I would go on and on about how much I hated the place but after three years, I am so over the conversation.

Still, the only thing I like about the job is that it comes to an end.


'til next Sunday. 
Click here to read the first installment.

Image Credit: Call Center Company