Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,35

I break into a fast run as he chases after me, dashing and splashing through puddles of melted snow.

Nine

Beep!

“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy, how can I help? I ask impassively.

“I need some help setting up my surveillance cameras,” says the caller.

Part of our job in the DSL department entails assigning ports to surveillance cameras so our customers can view live feed from remote computers. After verifying the caller, I dive right into the technicalities. “Sir, what would you like to name Camera One?”

“Bedroom Cam,” he huffs, sounding like Deep Throat.

“Okay,” I say and type away. “And Camera Two?”

“Bathroom Cam.”

“All right…and Camera Three?”

“Kitchen Cam,” he says hoarsely.

As I’m tapping at the keys, I begin to see a pattern here.

“And Camera Four sir?”

He is quick to respond, “Laundry Room Cam.”

I’m guessing he’ll probably say Garage Cam next. That should just about cover every room in the house.

Wow. This guy sure is serious about his home security.

“This is the last one sir. What you like to name Camera Five?”

“Crotch Cam,” he replies coarsely.

Silence. I’m not typing. Um, what? Did he just say crotch cam?

I blink. Yes. I believe he did. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing at attention. Ai yi yi. This caller is giving me the heebie jeebies.

I stammer, “Err, sorry, my computer just shut down on me so I’ll need to reboot. Do you mind holding for just a few minutes?”

Deep Throat grunts, “Hoh-kay.”

With trembling hands, I place him on hold.

Good God. This caller is one sick perv. I wonder if he’s using these cameras on unsuspecting women. Maybe he’s recording his own wife. Even worse, he could be one of those icky pedophiles.

This is serious. I need to report this.

I march imperiously to The Führer’s den and relay everything to her. She listens intently and when I’m done, she immediately takes charge. “Get me his info now. I need to run a background check on this guy. Pronto.”

My heart races as I dart back to my cube. I scrawl down his name and address on a note pad and scurry back to Hillary’s desk. Standing behind her, I can see that she has pulled up the National Sex Offender Registry web site.

“Go ahead,” she fires off. “I’m ready.”

Galvanized into action, I rattle off the caller’s first and last name, followed by his address. Hillary pounds her keyboard with fervor and clicks ‘submit.’

We wait.

Seconds later, we’re staring into the eyes of a sexual offender, convicted for aggravated sexual abuse of a child and attempted first degree felony. Okay, now I’m really getting the chills.

Hillary stares at me deadpan, and the reality of the situation begins to sink in.

For the both of us.

“Shut down his service. Transfer the call to me; I’ll handle it from here,” she instructs in a subdued manner.

I’m hightailing it back to my cubicle when I hear Hillary call my name. Halted by her voice, I whirl around.

“Nice work. I’m glad you brought this to my attention. As soon as I’m done with this call, I’m reporting him to the authorities.”

I am still in a daze. Did that really just happen? A compliment from The Führer?

Stunned and bewildered, I stumble back to my cubicle and swiftly transfer the call.

Afterward, I slump back in my chair and replay the events. Crapola! I’ve just caught a predator over the phone! And I know Kars will be thrilled to hear all about my successful sting op. She lives for stuff like this; she’s a huge Nancy Grace fan.

On impulse, I walk to her cubicle only to stop myself in my tracks. For a split second, I had forgotten that we aren’t speaking. And it’s a painful reminder. She has put up a wall between us, and it hurts.

It was Frost who once said, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall. That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it.”

I am that frozen ground, and my heart swells.

I miss Kars. Tonight, I will break down that wall that divides us. Tonight, I shall channel the strength of President Reagan when he commanded, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

Feeling good about my plan, I hop back on the phone.

What an abysmal and uneventful night. Slouched on the sofa, my eyes stare numbly at the TV screen, watching the credits roll for Hairspray, the musical. Prior to that, I watched the entire HSM marathon and the complete third season of Chuck.

Gaawwd! My mind is overdosed on cheesy musicals and spy shows. But watching Zac Efron and Zac Levi