Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,97
and I find myself staring into the barrels of two identical water pistols.
A split second later, he rotates his wrists, showing off a fancy gun twirling display. Then he expertly slides the pistols into his leather holsters and drawls, “Welcome to the Wild, Wild West.”
“Howdy cowboy.” Truong fawns all over Mika. “I know who you are! You’re Jack Twist from BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN!”
Mika laughs and protests, “No, I’m Clint Eastwood from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
“Nuh-uh,” Truong dismisses with a wolfish grin. “You’re Jake Gyllenhaal from Brokeback Mountain.” Sighing theatrically, he purrs, “You even have his sexy lips, sweetie.”
Mika shoots me a long suffering look.
Beep!
Bummer! Visiting time is over.
I throw Mika a rueful look and sprint back to my cubicle with my wireless headset in tow.
Even though I am a techie, I haven’t truly escaped the phones. Whenever we’re swamped with calls, Douglas throws me back into the queue to help out, and today is no exception.
“Thank you for calling Lightning Speed Communications, my name is Maddy. What can I do for you today?”
Heavy breathing. “Well for starters,” says the caller, “you could do me.”
O-kay, so I’ve got a pervo on my hands.
I ignore his sleazy comment. “Sir, may I have your first and last name please?”
“My name is Long Ngock Nguyen. However, the N in Ngock is silent. So it’s pronounced Long Cock Nguyen. But you can just call me Long Cock,” he insists in a greasy voice.
Long Cock?!? This is worse than the Richards who prefer to be called Dicks. MUTE.
“Truong!” I holler from across the room; he now sits ten rows away from me.
“What?” he shrills with a hint of annoyance.
I wave my arms in the air, motioning for him to come over.
Reluctantly, he disentangles himself from Mika and prances over. “This better be good! You just wrenched me from the arms of my cowboy lover.” He pulls a face.
“Trust me! It is. And guess what? I’m talking to your long lost brother Long Cock Nguyen.”
“No way,” he cries in disbelief.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Mika furtively sneaking away. Good for him; he’s made his escape from the light switch.
Meanwhile, Truong is peering at my screen. “Well, Nguyen is a pretty common Vietnamese name. But Long Cock eh?” he says, clearly impressed.
And for the rest of the call, I try my best to ignore Long Cock’s lewd comments and sexual innuendos. “You sound so sexy and so sweet. I love the sound of your voice. How old are you?”
Ugh! This guy is revolting! Why doesn’t he just call the phone sex line? To get him off my back, I inform him that I’m ninety nine years old and suffering from incontinence.
“I don’t believe ya for a second sweetheart. You sound about sixteen! What are you doing tonight? Are you going to party it up? What will you wear? C’mon darlin’, fulfill my fantasies.”
Is this guy for real?
I veer the conversation back to business. “What is the reason for your call sir?” I ask blandly.
“You want to know what I’ll be wearing tonight?” he asks and I remain silent. I really don’t care, nor do I wish to know.
He tells me anyway. “I’ll be dressing up as one giant gift box with a big bow wrapped around my head. And on the tag it shall say ‘To: Women, From: God’. Get it?” He sniggers derisively. “I’m God’s greatest gift to womankind.”
Surely this guy cannot be for real.
“Is there anything else.” I phrase it more as a statement than a question. It’s my wrap up line for saying, “Take a hike!”
But Long Cock doesn’t take the hint. He yaps on and on about all these costumes he fantasizes—French Maid, Naughty Nurse, Naughty Schoolgirl…I tune myself out to all of it.
“Is there anything else?” I interrupt bluntly. And every time he spews his smut, I interject and repeat myself over and over again, “Anything else? Anything else? Anything else?”
Finally he concedes, but he gives me the corniest line ever.
One I’ve heard over a gazillion jillion times.
“Yeah babes, how about the winning lottery ticket number?”
I force a stilted laugh. “Oh you’re so funny,” I say in a dry voice.
What a cornball!
He snorts loudly, like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever told. “Or you could put a million dollars into my bank account.”
Um, now why the hell would I do that? First of all, if I had a million dollars, I wouldn’t be working in this dump, listening to pervs like you.