Calls in Queue
Thank you for calling. My name is...
How[1] can I[2] help[3] you[4]?________
[1] How is a really tricky question. If you ask it too much, you’ll realize there are more questions than answers, like hot dogs to buns or the other way around or something like that. You know what I mean? How would you though, if I don’t? How can I help you when I can’t help myself? Your questions drown out mine. At least your problems have answers. Or maybe you’re just more easily redirected. How do you do that?
[2] Your need replaces whoever I was before we started this conversation. Your concerns fill me up, drowning out my own cries for help. But that’s fine. You see, I can’t call for help because I’m talking to you. You aren’t aware of me though. Not like that one lady who did my numerology over the phone that night. She really saw me, even though she’ll never be able to prove I’m anything more than a voice. She said I was coming out of a big disappointment and headed for a big change. Isn't that always the way? But you’re telling me something that I’m sure is important to you. You want it to be important to me too. That honestly seems a bit much to expect from the disembodied voice you called to complain to about your drive-thru experience. That’s OK. I can pretend that this, you, me, we, whatever, matters. How’s that?
[3] Just kidding. I’m only offering help because I have to. No, literally. It’s a column on my call evaluation form. My supervisor plugs into my headset and sits a bit too close. Unless we think that it’s OK that he’s touching me just enough for me to know it is intentional, then he is totally the perfect amount of close. He’s here to document my willingness to help. If it’s missing, I lose points. I don’t totally remember what that means, but it’s something. How does this make you feel?
[4] You’re disappointed. Your expectations weren’t met. Someone let you know you aren’t as important as you need to believe you are. And now that’s my problem. I get it. I would like to think I’m important enough not to be called a cunt when someone’s sweet tea isn’t as sweet as they think it should be or when they only get a fucking third of a piece of goddamn cheese on their fucking fish sandwich. But here we are. How did we get here again?
Artwork by Simone Hadebe