Characters:
ME:At work, probably wearing sweat pants, my ratty Simon & Garfunkle tshirt and an uncomfortable headset.
HETTIE:Very ancient and confused old lady with a gravely voice and think southern accent. Loves Jesus but drinks a little.
“Hello, blahblahblah.com. How may I help you?”
“Is this Jackie Turhune from somewherethefreakin Alabama”
“No, ma’am. This is “blahblahblah.com”.
“I need to speak to Jackie”
“There is no one named Jackie here, Ma’am”
“Oh. This isn’t 1-xxx-xxx-2255″
“No, Ma’am. This is 1-xxx-xxx-2555.”
“Oh. Okay”
Click
Ring…ring…
“Hello, blahblahblah.com. How may I help you?”
“Is this Jackie”
“No Ma’am. This is blahblahlbah.com.”
“I need to speak to Jackie Turhune from somewherethefreakin Alabama“
“Ma’am. You are dialing the wrong number. You need to dial 2255 and you are misdialing 2555.”
“Jackie isn’t there?”
“No, Ma’am. This is an online gardening center. I am an order desk.”
“Do you know Jackie?”
“No, Ma’am. I don’t. I am in Utah and Jackie is in somwherethefreakin Alabama.*”
“You know where Jackie lives?”
“Yes, Ma’am. You’ve told me the other 10 times you’ve called. You are dialing one digit wrong.”
“Oh, Okay.”
Click
Ring…Ring…
(Repeat this type of call about 5 more times, each time trying to explain why she is getting an order desk instead of Jackie)
“Hello, blahblahblah.com. How may I help you?”
“NO, MA’AM. YOU ARE STILL DIALING THE WRONG NUMBER.”
“Well, I only have one hand. They cut the other one off”
(Long pause. The drama queen in me wanted to know why the freak they would cut off a hand, but there was no way I could spend more time with this woman on the phone. Maybe a gator got it.)
“I am very sorry about that ma’am. Maybe you will have to wait to talk to Jackie until someone can dial the phone for you.”
“Are you sure Jackie Turhune isn’t there?”
“Yes. I.am.very.sure.”
“Could you dial that number for me?”
“No, ma’am I cannot dial the phone number for you.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Well, I am not an operator for the telephone company. I am also in Utah and you are in Buttfreakingbayou, Lousiana*. I would have to drive an hour to get to the Salt Lake City airport, fly to Lousiana, land in Shreveport, take two cabs a bus and most likely a riverboat to find your house, then dial the phone.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Click
Ring…Ring…
(Repeat a variation of THIS call about 5 MORE times. I am not exaggerating. AT ALL. By now most of my co-workers were gathered around me listening to the comedy that ensued.)
“HELLO! This is absolutely NOT JACKIE TURHUNE from somewherethefreakin Alabama. This is LORALEE from blahblahblah.com.“
“Is this Jackie?”
“NO! This is NOT JACKIE!”
“Could you give Jackie a message for me?”
“Ma’am I am not answering the phone for you anymore. Goodbye.”
Click
Ring…Ring…Ring…Ring…Ring…Ring…Ring…RING…RING…RING! RING!! RING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Hello?”
“Is this Jackie?”
“Why, YES! It IS! This is Jackie Turhune from Somewherethefreakin Alabama! If this is Hettie from Buttfreakinbayou, Lousiana, please rip up my number and never, EVER call me again!! Thank you!!!”
Click
No, I don’t work at this call center anymore, or anywhere anymore, but if Jon were to get hit by a bus tomorrow, this would pretty much be all I am qualified to do despite having more college credits than most PhD students. (And no. Just waltzing in and getting a degree in SOMETHING is not an option. It’s a long story.)
Yippee.
I’ve been thinking and worrying about it lately. It seems like everything I am good at is low-paying, non-paying or generally non-marketable. If I don’t think of something to do with my life, I’m going to be stuck having conversations like this forever.
*My apologies to any bloggity readers/friends from Somewhereinthefreak Alabama or Buttfreakingbayou Louisiana. No offense meant.


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