Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,3

head pops out. “Miss Karsynn Higginbotham?”

I shoot her a look of doom and she shoots me back a look of gloom as she’s marched into Guantanamo Bay.

Two

I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but TOOT!!! TOOT!!!

We got the jobs! And Lord only knows how. Either Karsynn and I aced our interviews, or Lightning Communications are just really desperate. Whatever the case, I’m not complaining.

Kars fiddles with her iPod and soon ABBA’s Dancing Queen is blaring from the speakers. Bouncing up and down, we pound our jubilant fists in the air and break into our signature celebratory dance. It involves a shimmy, a jiggle, a wiggle, and a smack on the tush.

Today, we celebrate and tomorrow we start our first day of a six-week long training. I know. Six weeks!

Apparently, there’s a lot to learn.

Kars and I have no sense of direction. Although we arrive at the call center fifteen minutes early, it takes us an eternity to locate the training room. We flounce around like two headless chickens, dodging through hallways, trying to orient ourselves, and half an hour later, we find it!

Wheezing and panting, we creep into class. I’m stumbling across the training room when this dreamy looking guy catches my eye.

He’s smolderingly gorgeous. He’s so incredibly hot that clouds seem to part, and he radiates from within like Helios the Sun God. I guess Greek mythology serves a purpose after all. I even hear a choir of angels singing. And a string quartet playing, with several harps strumming fluidly in the background.

Miraculously, despite the fact that I’m lost in my own ancient Grecian musical odyssey, and in my own thoughts of the Sun God, I somehow manage to make my way to the back of the classroom, straight into the empty seat right next to him. Score!

Kars plops down next to me, oblivious to his beauty. She only fancies men with all the B’s—big, butch, burly, buffed, and with bulging biceps aka beefcakes extraordinaire.

I prefer my men lean and tall, with sculpted features. Kars calls them pretty boys, but I beg to differ. They’re just more evolved and look less like apes.

“Class,” a petite, pasty blond guy calls our attention. “I think everyone is here now. I’ll be passing out this sheet of paper. Please write your name down so I know you’re present. My name is Glenn Bland and I’ll be your trainer for the next six weeks.”

I have no idea what transpires after that as all my energy is focused on that piece of paper. I watch it pass from hand to hand, and finally into the hands of the Greek God.

After scribbling down his name, he turns to me. “Here,” he says, arm outstretched.

“Thanks.” I reach for the sheet of paper.

For a brief second, our eyes lock and I feel myself going weak in the knees.

Swoon. He’s even better looking up close.

He has gorgeous green eyes, as green as the Chicago River on St. Patrick’s Day. Before signing my name, I scan the paper for his...Mika Harket.

Hmm, sounds foreign. I wonder where he’s from.

Kars nudges me. “Pay attention. Be a sponge. Soak it in.”

She’s right. I don’t want to be thrown into shark infested waters only to flail away and drown. I need to learn how to swim now. Right now, as a matter of fact.

So for the first hour, I listen intently to Glenn, hanging raptly onto his every word as he drones about T1 and T3 lines, optical carriers—OC12, OC3, routers, networks, internet protocols, error messages, covering every mundane detail under the sun.

I find myself yawning appallingly, trying hard to cover my gaping mouth. Glenn’s voice is soothing; hush and velvety, like a lullaby. By the second hour, I’m dozing off and Kars is miles away in snooze land, leaning against me. Her mouth hangs open and drool seeps out, sopping my hair.

Gently, I extricate myself from the drool monster and rub my temples. Oh God. How the hell am I supposed to survive through six grueling weeks of this mind numbing crap?

Then out of nowhere, Glenn clears his throat. “Now if you’ll get together in groups of four, we’re going to do some fun exercises to wake you guys up.”

I jolt Kars awake from her siesta. She yawns and stretches out like a Siamese cat. “What’s going on?” she asks groggily.

“Groups, we need to get into groups.”

Mika turns to me. “Can we join you guys?”

“Sure!” I flash him a bright smile.

Our team huddles in a circle, and I notice the other