monitored today!
Beep!
“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy. How can I help?” I rattle off my usual greeting and feel my shoulders begin to relax.
No monitors. No Hillary. What more can a gal ask for?
“Hello, this is Blinky from the Billings department. I need to transfer a customer who needs help with his online access.”
“Is this Blinky Fiore?”
“The very one. Is this Madison? Maddy the Minx from my training class?”
“That’s me!” I squeal with delight. “I can’t believe it’s you Blinky! It’s been so long.”
Blinky was in my training class, and she had to leave rather abruptly during our third week of training, because her twins were born two months prematurely.
Everyone in class loved Blinky; she always had us in stitches and her spot on imitations of Glenn the Bland trainer brought the house down. She is also legendary for her hoots. It starts out as a mild giggle, then it crescendos into a high pitched hoot slash shriek of epic proportions. Belinda is actually her real name, but she prefers to be called Blinky, after the three-eyed orange fish from the Simpsons, mutated by a nearby nuclear plant.
Ordinarily, I would have to keep everything business-like and robot-like, but since I’m fully covered on my QA monitors, I can act like a normal person and interact with my long lost friend.
“Maddy!” she booms. “It’s so good to hear your voice again.”
“You too Blinky! How are your twins?”
“Homer and Marge are doing just great. Did you see the first batch of pictures I posted on Facebook?”
“Yes. They are so flippin’ cute. When will you post more pics?”
“Soon. I hauled them over to Kiddie Kandids today.”
“I can’t wait to see,” I gush.
Truong scoffs, “I can’t stand it when people post pics of their newly born naked rats on Facebook. I like my newsfeed to be a baby free zone.”
I roll my eyes at him. I simply adore baby pics!
My cubicle calendar features pictures of happy, cherubic babies posing in flower pots and wheelbarrows.
“How are things over there in customer service?” asks Blinky.
I laugh mirthlessly. “Not that great.”
“That’s too bad,” she tuts. “Whose team are you on?”
“Hillary’s Third Reich,” I groan morosely.
She hoots like a hyena. “Ah yes, I’ve heard that she’s the Not Ready Nazi. I have to ask you though, when she walks into a room, do you click your heels and clap your thighs together, and yell HEIL HILLARY?”
“No, but I’m still a P.O.W in this labor camp, and Hillary is still a fascist pig.”
Sometimes, I wish I was in a different department. Blinky is so lucky to be in Billings. After she returned from maternity leave, she managed to get transferred.
“Do you like it over there in Billings, Blinks?”
“It’s okay. At least my supervisor is nothing like yours. But it kind of sucks; we have to sell over here too.”
“You do?” I cry in astonishment. I was under the impression they didn’t have to sell. “Sell what?”
“Credit cards,” she moans peevishly. “Some of my callers have a hard time even paying their bills, and I’m still forced to sell them credit cards.”
I shake my head. “I guess there’s no escaping it.”
“No there isn’t,” she says with an aggrieved air, imprisoned too by this madness.
“Okay, I guess you better transfer the caller,” I say ruefully.
I could go on chatting with Blinky forever, but I don’t want the poor customer to be on hold for much longer.
She breathes out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I guess I better.”
“It’s been great catching up with you, Blinky.”
“You too! And try to stay alive over there.”
“I’ll try,” I say half-heartedly.
“Next time Hillary is mean to you, say this: Halt! Lassen sie mich die unterlagen für ihren schnurrbart sehen.”
I stifle a laugh. “What does that mean?”
She hoots. “It means ‘Halt! Let me see the documentation for your moustache’.” Then she immediately brings the caller on the line, and her tone is all serious and business-like. “Sir, thank you so much for holding. I have Maddy on the line with us now. She’s a very good friend of mine, and she’ll be assisting you from here.”
“Bye-bye, Blinky,” I manage between sputters, laughing like a loon, trying hard to compose myself so I can assist the caller.
This past week has pretty been rough, with my left eye getting progressively worse. It’s red, it’s sore, and it hurts like crazy. At first, I chalked it up to computer eye fatigue for the simple fact that my job requires me to stare at a monitor for eight hours