Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,119

Dashboard flash at me like a neon banner at a used car dealership.

Every single call that filters through this center is treated as a sales prospect.

Sadly, I’d become a part of this ugly machine, pushing products and services that the customers didn’t want or need. Forced to swear allegiance to the Sales Flag, I’d swallowed the bitter pill of dissent for fear of being arrested by the KGB and sent off to the firing squad.

For some, this job is permanent. Absurdly enough, there is a minority here who actually like this job. To say these folks are patient is an understatement. But they insist that they love what they do. From what I’ve observed, they tend to be religious and immensely forgiving. Or maybe they’re just doused on a ton of alcohol and drugs to numb the pain.

And then there are others who keep on working here, some for over thirty years, despite the fact that they’re miserable as hell. In my opinion, there’s only one explanation for this sort of behavior: battered wife syndrome. In denial about the abuse they suffer, they have come to accept their dismal fates; they feel hopeless, trapped, like they have no other choices, no other options.

I want to seize them by the shoulders, shake them hard and say, “Leave your bastard husband. Oops, leave your bastard job! You’re strong enough. You can do it. You can find a better job! You can leave this blasted place. At one time, I too considered staying. But it’s not worth it. If you love yourself, leave!”

For others, this is merely an in-between job before something better comes along. For me, this experience has been a myriad of things. A stepping stone, a small but steady paycheck, a whole lot of stress and diabolically fun.

Someday, I will look back upon this experience with delirious laughter and absolute horror. Make no mistake, a call center is something to be experienced before you can truly grasp the meaning of a living Hell.

But it seems as if human beings form the closest bonds when faced with adversity. Call it our natural defense against painful and catastrophic situations.

Consequently, this call center holds a very special place in my heart. This slum, this bleak and dismal labor camp is where my most memorable friendships have blossomed.

Truong will always remain one of my very good friends. He’s pursuing a degree in interior design and sticking around until he’s done with college.

Saint Ingeborg Draganov, bless her heart. I love that girl like a sister. She’s a rare bird; she actually likes this job and plans on working here for the rest of her life.

I tip my hat to her; she possesses patience and virtue beyond measure.

And Karsynn, my dear Kars. She and I were buddies before I even set foot in this call center, and we remain the best of friends as I step out. The friendship and bond we share has only grown stronger, not hampered in the least by Pamela Pornero and the rest of the Call Center Termites.

Kars aims to snag a supervisor position in a year and become a director in five. And I have no doubt in my mind that she’ll succeed. She’s ballsy and determined, plus she’s a pro at playing the demented office politics games.

Idealistic and optimistic, Kars tells me that when she claws her way to the top, she’ll make some changes. Changes that will help the plight of the people here. Although I hope she’ll follow through, I remain realistic.

Arriving at the elevator, I jab the button with one finger.

The elevator door pings open and I step in.

Whirling around, I glance back one final time and realize that I have no regrets. Working at Lightning Speed Communications has given me the skills to prepare me for future jobs. My skin is now tougher than leather. Correction. Tougher than steel. And I am certain I can handle anything thrown my way.

All the abuse has only served to make me stronger. I emerge from this call center a new and liberated woman, much like Tina Turner after she walked out on Ike.

In the past, whenever I’d called Bank of America, FedEx, Delta, Anthropologie or J.Crew, I’d always been the customer, and I’d never thought twice about the person on the other end of the line.

But I’ve now had a peek behind the Iron curtain.

I’ve lived in a world that we all experience but seldom bother to understand once we hang up the phone; a world that was