go poo when my co-workers are whooshing in and out of the toilet.
And so I use the restroom located on the thirteenth floor. It’s always vacant, allowing me to do my business in absolute peace, privacy and tranquility.
Perversely, Truong had once admitted that he never goes ‘number two’ at work. He said, “I just hold it in until I get home.”
I’d stared at him as if he was bonkers. Then I’d asked, “What if you have an EXPLOSION in your chair?”
Truong had just stared at me as if I was the one who was bonkers.
I’m sorry, but I can’t hold it in. I think I’d DIE if I did. When you gotta go, you gotta go.
The only problem is, a fifteen minute break does not afford me ample time to use the restroom located on the thirteenth floor. Mind you, I sprint up and down the stairs at the speed of a gazelle. And sometimes I make it back on time, sometimes I don’t. Trust me; I even tried taking the lift once, but it ended up taking much longer.
Hillary’s eyes burn with rage. “SO?” The Führer demands an answer, “WHY WERE YOU LATE?”
I twist my fingers, trying to come up with something that will placate her. After a tentative pause, I manage, “I was going over the sales integrity CBT (Computer Based Training) to, um, make sure I’m in compliance with all the rules and regulations we have to abide by, you know, when selling over the phones, and um, I just somehow lost track of time...” I trail off unsteadily. “But I had to do it! It was my fiduciary obligation,” I expostulate.
The fire in her eyes is extinguished—at least for now.
Phew! That always seems to do the trick.
Mention words like Regulation, Compliance, Sales, Obligation and it immediately quells her anger somewhat.
Hillary harrumphs and steers the topic back to my poor sales performance. “Just look at these atrocious sales numbers! They are completely unacceptable!”
I gulp and wheel my chair back several inches.
Her capacious nostrils flare with annoyance. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I sit numbly in my chair. “Um…I…err, tried?”
“WELL YOU ARE NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH! I have listened to your monitors and YOU HAVE NOT BEEN SELLING ON EVERY SINGLE CALL!”
“But, sometimes I can’t,” I say timidly.
“Excuses, excuses!” she spits. “This week, I’ll be doing side-by-sides with you, starting right now.”
She marches me to my cubicle, pulls up a chair next to mine, throws on her headset and Y-jacks onto my headset.
I feel trapped.
Beep!
“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy. How can I help?”
“I need to pay my cell phone bill,” says the caller.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ve got the wrong department.”
“My fault.” He chortles briefly. “I’m on chemo right now and my mind is just not in the right place.”
“Don’t worry about it, sir,” I say amiably. “People get lost in the tree of numbers all the time. Let me just get you over to a billing sp—” I pause mid-sentence as Hilary is shooting me a scathing look.
I push MUTE and turn to her. “What?”
“Pitch a sales offer!” she orders so severely that the veins on her forehead are pulsating and popping.
“Hillary, he has cancer,” I beseech, my eyes begging her. “He’s sick and he may have months, maybe only days to live.”
“I—do—not—care!” Her tone is cold and remorseless.
Resigning myself, I release the MUTE key.
“Sir, before I transfer you to a billing specialist, is it okay if I mention a product or a service that may be beneficial to you?” I cringe at my very own words.
“Darlin’, I am a dying man. There is nothing else I need but God’s love.” He chuckles heartily.
Instantly, I am filled with remorse. And I berate myself for allowing Hillary to bully me into pitching a sale to a man who is terminally ill and about to meet his Maker.
There really are no ‘right words’ to say to him. His situation is horrible and death is final. I used to take offense when people would say that my dad was going off to a better place, or that his pain would soon be over with. I know they were well-meaning, but I would rather they had said nothing at all.
The Führer is still on my case.
“Say something!” she hisses. “Empathize with the caller.”
This caller seems so positive and the last thing I want to say to him is something pitiful like, “I’m sorry,” so I try to match his upbeat mood. “Sir, will you