Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,70

to Kars and proudly display the treat in the palm of my hand. “See!” I say rapturously.

My eyes shimmer at the sight of my Valentine prezzie. It’s as if I’m gazing at a sparkling De Beers diamond.

I gush, “This is my Denny & George scarf moment.”

“Nice,” says Kars, clearly impressed. “See! I told you that he likes you. Now are you going to eat it or not?”

I gaze at her uncertainly. “Maybe I should freeze dry it so I can keep it forever.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, just eat the damn thing.”

Stubbornly, I shake my head.

She whips out her iPhone and snaps a picture. “There! Now you can eat it. I’ll send you the pic so you can scrapbook it.”

“Thanks, Kars!” I take a huge bite and smack my sugar coated lips. Mmmm. Mika sure knows the way to my heart.

Four hours later, I have yet to thank my benevolent benefactor. I agonize and wait until my shift ends. And when it finally does, I head over to Mika’s cube with the sole intention of giving him a proper thank-you, which in my mind involves a hug and a peck on the cheek. After that, I envisage us driving off into the sunset.

Strangely, when I arrive at Mika’s desk, he’s gone.

I glance furtively around but he’s nowhere in sight.

Kars is soon beside me. “C’mon, Maddy, I just saw Mika leave a few minutes ago. Maybe we can catch up with him outside.”

My face instantly lights up and we rumba out of the building.

Outside, my world slows down to a complete standstill. I spot them—Mika and some girl, who is hanging and clinging onto his arm like a baby orangutan.

At once, I feel shots of territorial pangs rip through my veins. It doesn’t help that she’s drop dead gorgeous. But she’s not a classic beauty like Ingeborg.

Nope. Far from it. She looks like a chick from a Girls Gone Wild commercial that’s forced down my throat on late night TV.

In short, she’s skanky.

A gorgeous skank, but skanky nonetheless.

Skank woman is wearing Daisy Duke shorts, even though there’s a foot of snow on the ground and it’s minus two hundred degrees.

Oh, and her skin is the color of a tangerine.

Spray on fake tan gone wrong. Overdone and over baked.

And her stringy hair is definitely over peroxided.

Frozen to the spot, I feel a sharp metallic taste in my mouth, mildly sickened by the sight of Mika and Mystery Chick.

I watch them make their way across the parking lot, headed in the direction of Mika’s car.

Gallantly, he opens the door for the tangerine and she slides into the passenger seat in a very uncouth manner. Her legs splay wide open, like a beaver trap.

Mika jogs over to his side of the car and hops in.

Seconds later, the engine roars to life and his car peels away. They zoom off into the stark night while I’m left standing there with my hair billowing in the biting wind.

Sniffles. That was supposed to be me and Mika driving off into the night.

Kars clucks like a flustered Mother Hen. “Maddy, I’m sure that slut is just a friend of his.”

Swallowing hard, I manage a sardonic smile. “Yeah, just like I’m a friend of his,” I say bitterly.

Kars gives me a respectful few minutes of silence, and I use it to gather my thoughts and pull myself together.

Right here, right now, I resolve to make some changes.

Any romantic feelings I have for Mika, I shall squash into the deep recesses of my heart.

There are plenty more fish in the sea, and this time, I need to find myself a local trout from a river nearby. Maybe even a farm raised catfish or tilapia.

Humph. What I surely do not need is some overrated Belgian swordfish from the Atlantic Ocean.

Kars gently pats my arm. “Let’s go home, Maddy.”

“Okay,” I mumble, feeling utterly broken.

Later that night, I throw myself a pity party. I fold up on my bed, licking my wounds and hugging my sorrows to my chest.

Outside, the Heavens open up and rain begins to pour.

Listening to the dismal sound of raindrops pattering against the windowpanes, I allow myself to descend into a brief foray of sadness.

I feel an inexplicable knot in my chest. My eyes fill in spite of myself and salty tears spill down my face, stinging my raw cheeks, sopping my pillow.

Abruptly, my BlackBerry blares with the voice of AR Rahman belting out Jai Ho.

Ah yes, I switched my ringtone. A new year, a new ringtone. A new