Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,52
empty stomachs.
Mika reaches for another slice. “So, are you going back home for Christmas?”
“No, I’m forced to work.”
“Me too,” he groans. “By the way, where’s home for you?”
“Me? I grew up in Lake Forest. It’s near Chicago.”
He leans back. “So, is Chicago a lot like Pocatello?”
I laugh. “Pocatello is much smaller than Chicago, by like two million people.”
Mika chuckles. “I’ve never been to Chicago.” After a pause, he says ruefully, “I haven’t traveled much around the States.”
“You mean you’ve never left Pocatello?” I cry aghast.
“Well, I’ve been to Boise,” he says defensively. “And I’ve even been to Paris.”
I blink. “Paris, France?”
He shakes his head. “Paris, Idaho.”
“Mika!” I gasp. “That is not acceptable! You need to get away from here and breathe a different air. Go to Yellowstone and see the bears and bison. Go to Vegas and catch Celine Dion’s show! Next time I go home, you’re coming with me,” I say adamantly.
“Okay,” he says, unaware of a stringy piece of mozzarella that’s sticking to his bottom lip.
I have this sudden impulse to wipe it away, but I resist.
That would feel too intimate.
“Oh and by the way,” he adds with a wry smile, “of course I’ve been to Paris, France. Belgium borders France, and Paris is only a hundred and sixty miles from Brussels.”
“Well, I’ve never been.” I sigh wistfully. “Someday, I’d love to go to Europe.”
Mika reaches for a napkin and wipes his mouth. “Come back home with me sometime.”
“For real?” I ask, surprised.
“Of course,” he says. “I’d love to show you around.”
“I can’t wait to see the famous Pissing Boy Statue.”
He laughs. “You mean the Manneken Pis?”
“Yeah, and isn’t he dressed in different costumes each week?”
He nods. “Why would you want to see the Manneken Pis?”
“Why not?” I huff. “It’s one of the most famous landmarks in Brussels.”
He smiles. “It’s not fair. You guys have the Statue of Liberty and we’ve got the Pissing Boy Statue.”
“Sounds fair to me.” I grin. “So, when will you be going back?”
“Well after I graduate, I’m going back for good.”
“Oh…” I trail off and stare at my cup of soda.
Lifting the cup to my lips, I sip in silence. His words seem to settle like rocks and boulders in my chest.
He breaks the silence. “When will you be going home?”
“Not anytime soon.”
“You have a slight accent.” He wrinkles his brows. “Is that a Chicagoan accent?”
“I do? I didn’t realize it. Speaking of accents, people from MinnesoooOooooota and WisConsin have a much stronger one. It sounds like a whole different language.”
“I know what you mean.” He smiles. “Darren’s from Wisconsin and whenever he offers me a soda, he calls it ‘pop’.”
I giggle helplessly. “You mean pahp.”
Mika continues, “And he calls the water fountain a bubbler. Yesterday, he asked me where the bubbler was, and I thought he was looking for a ground geyser.”
“You gotta love Wisconsin accents.”
“So...” He pauses for a beat. “Do you know Darren?”
I bob my head. “Yeah, he’s the guy who sits next to you.”
“Well…” he hesitates. “Darren’s been asking me about you; he wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone.”
I gulp down my soda. “What’d you tell him?”
He makes a conscious effort to avoid my eye. “I, err…told him that you think dating someone at work is like dumping on your own doorstep.”
I choke on my 7 Up.
“You okay?” he asks with concern.
I nod, trying to find my voice. I take another healthy swallow, and this time it goes down the right pipe. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So, you really told Darren that?”
“Yes.” His dark eyes probe mine. “Is that how you really feel? About dating a co-worker?”
Before I can respond, Mika quickly adds, “If not, I can easily clear things up with Darren.”
I open my mouth and clamp it shut. If I tell Mika that I am not opposed to dating a co-worker, he’ll assume that I fancy Darren. Arrgh! What I really want to say is that I fancy him. You, Mika.
Suddenly, Springsteen croons Born in the USA and I’m saved by The Boss. Bolting upright, I retrieve my cell. “Wassup!” I answer. “Yeah, I’m with Mika. We’re at Papa’s Pizzeria.” Short pause while I listen. “Uh-huh, sure no problem.” I hang up.
“Kars wants me to pick up a pesto pizza.”
“How is she doing?”
“Better now that she can eat solid food.” I stand up and reach for my purse. “I’ll go place that order for her.”
Mika pulls out a tenner. “Here, let me get it.”
“No,” I protest.
“I want to,” he insists. “You’ve been tutoring me every