Death, Taxes & Call Centres

Death, Taxes and Call Centres

There’s an old saying that is actually now part of my life manifesto, the only one way to shake oneself of a vicious hangover is to start drinking again. People like to call this the hair of the dog, I call this the express train to the deep depths of hell.
When I opened my eyes on Wednesday morning and I saw I wasn’t in my own bed, I could tell there was going to be trouble. So when I made an attempt to sit up and saw the naked body of a work colleague, I knew there was going to be trouble.

My name is John and for my sins I work in a call centre (which is of course the thing that takes up the majority of my life whilst I’m trying to find ‘my thing’). I am the evening shift manager and I supervise a team of ‘highly skilled’ telesales personnel. This was only meant to be a very short time gig, but alas, I’ve now worked here for well over 6months. The money is probably less than I’d make busking, and the staff are generally a good bunch, although it sometimes resembles a zoo. But when things start going downhill, you’d better get off the slope.
When I started the role I was warned that interstaff frolicking was a big no-go. I promptly ignored this nugget of information and got to work. This is when things started going sideways. You see, when you work with a tight knit group, people talk a lot about their personal life. So when you get slightly inebriated on Saturday and go home with a shift manager and then do the same on Tuesday night with another manager, there’s going to be a storm and you know you’ve got ringside tickets to the maelstrom.

As I walk through the main doors I’m thinking of a piece of advice my father told me about angry dogs which makes sense now more than ever, don’t make eye contact. I’m hoping that will work for scorned women too. This is easy John, just make it through the next few hours and we’re off the hook, maybe get a new job on a cruiseliner as a cocktail maker or emigrate somewhere exotic like Cardiff.
The doors closed behind me a little heavier than usual and it makes me feel like I’ve just been sent down. A shudder travels up and down my spine nearly tripping me over. In hindsight it probably doesn’t help that I’ve been in the pub for a few hours before work trying to forget this monumental fuck up.
“John, can I have a word in my office please” Shit, sooner than I thought. Called into the centre managers office already. I think I can already hear the lions getting released and the crowd screaming for my head. “Take a seat please”.
Glenda is the call centre manager. She’s about 5feet tall and about the same in width. The worst thing is she’s the biggest flirt in the building and thinks she’s irresistible, just like a demented midget pornstar. She is quite a nice person some of the time, but you know she’s just sizing up the size of your skull.
Before I can stop myself it falls out of my mouth “It was an accident!”. Damn it, there goes my ‘someone must have slipped rohypnol into my drink…twice’ excuse.
“What are you talking about boy? I wanted to talk to you about your performance”
“Nothing. I thought you were talking about leaving the lights on”. Saved by the bell.
“As you’re aware the centre is under increasing scrutiny for performance related results. We are not doing very well. I need a result from your shift John” No pressure then. Everyday is the same, a side effect of direct sales.
Cold calling is perhaps the worst job in the entire world, I’m pretty sure that even street sweepers would agree with me. Although it has widened my vocabulary of insults, of which I have been subjected to the best of. I don’t think I could ever tire of being called a ‘cock whoring pimp from Belfast’. Real masterful poetry.
I’m subjected to another 10minutes of the must do better speech before I’m released, by this time I’m ready to go back to the pub but I’ve got a shift to run. I bump into Colin in the corridor. Colin is the other half of the evening management team and he has never slept with another member of staff, the sellout. He has an infectious atmosphere about him and seems to have a mild affliction for high-fiving everybody he comes into contact with. “Howdy teamster, how the devil are you?”
“If I’m being honest with you Colin I’m slightly pissed, I’m flat broke because you can’t do your job properly and its only a matter of time before I contract some exotic venerable disease. Apart from that I feel like a spring breeze mating with candy floss. How are you?”
“I’m really good mate. I had eggs for breakfast” The simpleton. Although eggs do sound really good right now.
“I’ll catch you later pal. I’ve got loads to do” Like go and find that bottle of vodka Glenda keeps for emergencies.

As I step into the call centre, it’s like walking into hell. 40 voices hit me simultaneously pitching the latest technological advancement in vacuum technology. The thing to bear in mind with call-centre staff is that the majority are under 20 studying media or some other useless qualification so they can demand a higher wage at Tesco or wherever they end up before benefits are made compulsory for those with an IQ under that of a hedgehog.
The trouble with working in an environment like this and being told not to mess around with the staff is like putting Ozzy on a white mountain and telling him not to carve a line. Pre-twenties girls love power like post thirties girls love Marks and Spencers adverts. There’s a certain amount of hero worship that goes on, and no-one has harvested this better than Joseph the weekend manager. He makes me look like an amateur and Colin look like a eunuch, which he may well be.
I saw Jo at the managers’ desk at the top of the callroom. “What’s up dude?”
“Nothing Johnboy-what about yourself? Heard about your 2 way dilemma-what did I tell you about messing with the managers? If it’s one of the grunts its easy for management to cover the debacle up with a quick firing, we’ve potentially got a full scale political scandal here”
“What can I say Jo-too many shots of testosterone with Jack Daniels bringing up the rear”
“Just make sure Glenda doesn’t get wind of this overwise she’ll have your nuts in the guillotine. Remember Sam?” Unfortunatley I did.
A few weeks ago Jo had done the natural thing for a twentysomething bloke with an unnaturally high blood-alcohol level, gone for the nearest blonde with a big of leg showing. Unfortunately this was Glenda’s daughter, Sam. When Jo woke up he knew he’d made a huge mistake, which was compounded by the fact that he was in Glenda’s house. Cue a bit of early morning rooftop scrambling and a few bruises in places you’d rather not know about Jo was in the all clear, by the very skin of his teeth. He’d learnt his lesson and now it was perhaps time to learn mine.

With Jo’s miyagi style wisdom still reverberating through my head I made my way to the staff room. As I opened the door I knew it was just going to be one of those days-Jenny and Nicki, the two managers whom with I had a private dance with, were deep in conversation huddled over one of the desks.
Worst case scenario-I get attacked simultaneously by a pair of power crazed pheromone induced colleagues.
Best case scenario-I get seduced simultaneously by a pair of power crazed pheromone induced colleagues.
“Hey John” both chime up.
“Hey ladies” Silence.
I momentarily convince myself this is the calm before the storm. Goodbye cruel, cruel world. But nothing happens, the girls go back to their hushed chat and I realise I’m stood in the middle of the staff room holding my package, and mumbling something incomprehensible. Not a good look.
I take a seat in the corner of the room, making sure my back is to the wall. Then in waltzes the weekend manager, Johnny. Johnny always reminds me of the mentally handicapped people they employ at Asda & McDonalds to show they are non-discriminatory. He is 6foot4 and has the mental capacity of a 5 year old.
“John-I’m glad your here-I’ve been hearing some bad rumblings that they’re closing the call centre down. Maybe we should get jobs on the fish market”
“Don’t worry about it Johnny” I reassure him “It’s all a ploy to see who is loyal to the company. Stay put and reap the benefits that follow, and to avoid the haunting smell of fresh haddock”
I soon realised after starting for the company that a) Johnny is a conspiracy nut and b) the best way to deal with him is to talk unadulterated nonsense. He also has momentarily lapses when he thinks he’s the Edge from U2 and flies into an arena shaking air guitar solo, which is simultaneously freakish and fascinating.
Johnny settles into the seat next to me after some mild reassurance that the callcentre isn’t under surveillance by the Russians.

This isn’t the best of situations to be in. You see, add a little booze to John and you have a walking hormone. Nicki happened when England lost to South Africa in the World Cup final, too many drinks to chase away the sinking feelings and I woke up with an older lady in the morning. Cue a few days later when I was at the pub with a few colleagues trying to erase the feeling that something bad is going to happen, and I wake up with Jenny. You don’t need to tell me it was a bad idea at best, an atom bomb pass the parcel at worst.
Note to self-lets stop drinking with people I work with.

Back to the present, and I’m still sat in a room with a conspirator and a mumbling idiot. At least after the shift I’ve got a house-party invite that I will not be turning down, the way today is panning out I’ll be needing another drink sooner rather than later.
The rest of the staff filter into the office followed by Glenda for the weekly meeting. This weeks topic is the management of staff performance and absenteeism, real edge of the seat type stuff. An hour passes and Glenda is still chirping on about something or other and I’m ready for falling asleep. After what seems like an eternity the meeting is finished and I’m ready to run my shift.
The callcentre is set into 2 parts of which there is a pool of 30 people making cold calls and 8 people taking callbacks-I manage the latter who have clambered up the career ladder to the elite callers. They are generally university students who work to either pay off some of their student loans or top up the beer fund, whichever the priority is that week. The shift passes fairly quickly with no shenanigans and then I’m en-route to the party post haste.

Most of the people are already at the party, and the drinks are flowing freely. To my instant dismay, Jenny and Nicki are both here. I could have handled them individually, but together I soon realise that my arse is going to be handed to me on a plate. I promptly pour myself a large drink and have a shot of what tastes a little like bleach poured down my neck by the host with the most, Sarah, who is the callcentre administrator. The party is mostly occupied by people who are friends with Sarah and some of the more senior members of staff from work. Loud dance music leaks out from some oversized speakers and most of the action seems to be happening in the kitchen. I’m chatting to an attractive blonde about the pleasure of getting blitzed off someone else’s supply of alcohol when a hand grabs mine from behind and Nicki whispers into my ear “We need to talk” before whisking me into the back yard.
“Hey Nick, what’s up?” Stalling seems like the only viable option right now.
“I need to talk to you about what happened on Saturday night”
“Its all good Nicki, we were just 2 drunken fools reeling in the hazy delight of drunkenness in the aftermath of our nation getting stuffed by the oppressive might of the south Africans” Blind her with science, seemed like a good idea.
“What? Listen, I don’t usually do that sort of thing. I’m a lady, not some cheap tart. I just want you to know that is the first time that’s ever happened”
“I’m not here to judge Nick”
“I know that John. I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention this to anyone else”
“My lips are sealed. You not chatted to Jenny about this?”
“No-why?”
I nearly do a little leap of joy. “No reason chick, come on lets go and get another drink and forget about it” Good news indeed. The night seems to be picking up a little. I go inside and grab another drink and start talking to the good looking blonde again. It’s about this point that I see Jenny all over a member of staff with whom I have no affiliation. Turns out the girl I’m talking to is related to someone at work, I’m not really paying that much attention. We keep talking about the finer things in life and she seems like a great girl. Things are starting to blur a little now but I do see Jenny leaving the party with the member of staff. Looks like I’m in the all clear. It’s about this point that things start to get a little out of tune…

Head pounding. Mouth feels like it’s been used as an ashtray. Vision blurred.
I think ‘excess’ is the right word to use to describe last night. I feel someone move next to me. I also see a whisper of blonde hair. Well at least that’s a good sign, none of the female members of management have blonde hair.
“Good morning” the blonde girl whispers as she puts her arm over me.
“Right back at you”
“Did you have a good night?” Her hand starts moving down my stomach.
“Oh yeah. You?”
“Mmm, it was delicious” Her hand getting lower and lower.
“Remind me-how do you know Sarah?”
“She works for my mum” Her hand so close now.
“And that would make you mum…?”
“Glenda. You know her right?”
Shit.