Don't Call Me

Today was a difficult day on the phones.


I was in the middle of taking an order, keying information like a fiend, peppering my conversation with  deferential, oft-used "yes, ma'am's," my voice occasionally adopting a southern lilt or a western twang to match my customers. ("Da, S RazhdestvOm!" I responded to a Russian woman from West End Avenue in New York.) Then, without warning, between screens, passing from shipping to credit information, a large red ERROR flashed across everything, and all that carefully pecked out information vanished. Gone. 0 items in Shopping Bag. 


"Whoops," I muttered inadvertently.


"Oh, no," groaned the customer from Bad Axe, Minnesota.


"I'm so sorry, sir, but I'm going to have to transfer you to customer service."


"Why?"


My thoughts raced. I'm not supposed to admit to any deficiency in our system. Where was my script? I pawed through catalogues. I dug through forms.


"Sir, it's taking a moment to access...."


"Oh, fine, then just transfer me."


"Yes, sir, and I'm so sorry for this inconvenience."


This happened 7 times before my mentor, L, pushed the "make busy" button on my phone. I removed my headset like a defrocked queen.


"Let's go through this again," she said.


"I don't think it's me," I said, a whit away from a whine.


"We'll see."


"Did you move your mouse?" she demanded.


"I did not move my mouse."


"Did you double click ship?"


"I did not double click ship."


"Did you enter the credit card type before you entered the number?"


"Yes," I said. "I did."


She gave me a few technical suggestions, keys to push, items to shade, things to paste. I was to press Control C, then V.


I went back to my headset, I dutifully noted the time spent in my Daily Log: .25 minutes under OTHER.


Three orders later, ERROR!


Someone seized my headset. I was instructed to log out. 


"We're going to take your cookies," they said.


"You are?" I asked. I had already missed the plate of Luscious Lemon Cake. Was I to lose out on lebkuchen?


"Your system is in default," I was told.


"Oh," I said.


"Don't worry, this won't count against you," L said.


"What a relief," I breathed. I don't need things counting against me.


After they fixed it, and I had logged back in, I was conversing with a gentleman from Louisville, Kentucky. He dictated his email, stressing that it be in upper case.


"Thank you, Mr. Wide Glide," I said. "Have a happy, healthy Christmas." Then I froze.


L poked me. 


"Did I just hear you call your customer Mr. Wide Glide?" 


"Whoops," I said. "I guess I did. I-I-I-I..."


L shook her head and turned back to her screen in silence.


L passes me notes: Suggest other items. We're upselling tufted chair pads today. Don't use the word "intersperse," our customers will get confused. Our customers don't need to know that your mother has a house in Florida. 

At the end of the day, I spent .50 minutes with a gentleman from New Jersey. He changed his order three times, twice after I had keyed his credit information. He added boysenberry jam. He subtracted cherry jelly sticks. He forgot to mention the promo code for free shipping.


When I had wished him a good rest of his day, I sat back and moaned, "Man, what does that guy think, that I have all day to wait around while he thumbs through his catalogue?"


L swiveled toward me.


"Yes," she said, "You do. It's your job."