Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel (47 page)

In the past, whenever I’d called Bank of America, FedEx, Delta,
Anthropologie
or
J.Crew
, I’d always been the customer, and I’d never thought twice about the person on the other end of the line.

But I’ve now had a peek behind the Iron curtain.

I’ve lived in a world that we all experience but seldom bother to understand once we hang up the phone; a world that was at one time foreign to me.

It became
my
world.

I lived and breathed call center.

And now
I know
. Now I understand.

Riding down the elevator alone, all the memories come flooding back. The rare but occasional nice callers who’d
brightened up my days, sweet old ladies who were so grateful and thankful for my help that they’d wanted to send me their home-baked cookies and homemade salsa, the tight-knit friendships that I’d built, the evil management that I’d tolerated, the QA bastards who I will forever despise, the calls—the good, the bad and the ghastly, and all the ones I’d tried to find humor in.

Oddly enough, even a vivid picture of my dingy six-by-six foot cubicle flashes before my eyes. It was my windowless space in this crowded place...and it shall always hold a special place in my heart, much like the people who work here.

Truong, Kars,
Ingeborg
and Mika—
they
were the best part of this job.

The elevator doors pings open.

Dazedly, I make my way toward the exit gates and Security Guard Adnan checks my box. I pass inspection.

“Bye, Missus Lee,” he says jovially.

I swipe my badge for the final time and hand it to him. “Bye, Adnan. Take care.”

The automatic glass doors swish open and I shuffle out.

Outside, I am relieved to see Mika leaning against the front fender of my car, James Dean style.

Just the sight of him soothes me.

Upon spotting me, a smile breaks over his face. And with long and quick strides, he is soon beside me. “You ready?” He gently pries the box from my hands.

My voice catches in my throat. “I’m ready.”

“I know.” He touches my hair and smoothes it back from my brow. “It’s like leaving a small chunk of your life behind.”

I nod and swallow hard, not trusting myself to speak.

It feels as if I’m leaving my second family.

“Hey...” he soothes, cradling my face between his hands. “Today is an ending, but it’s also a beginning.”

I rest my burning cheeks against his palms.

He’s right. I really should embrace both.

We walk in silence to my car.

He opens my door and I slide in, still subdued. After shutting the door behind me, he jogs over to the driver’s side and deposits my box onto the back seat.

Hunched over the steering wheel, he reaches for his keys and shoots me a sidelong glance. “You sure you’re okay?”

I smile warmly at him, letting him know that I am.

He switches on the ignition and fiddles with his iPod.

Seconds later, we zoom off and the music begins playing. It’s
First Day of My Life,
my favorite number by Bright Eyes.

Leaning back, I close my eyes, feeling the dampness on my lashes.

As the song gathers steam, I whisper languidly, “Mika...”

He squeezes my knee. “Yeah, babes?”

I lapse in and out of a semi-meditative state as the car bumps along potholes in the road. “I think I’ll write a book. I’ll keep on working at Ajon to help pay the bills, but writing a book is something I’ve always wanted to do.” After a thoughtful pause, I declare, “So I’m going to do it.”

“Do it,” he says, increasing the pressure on my knee. “Have you thought of a title?”

My lips fall into a lopsided grin. Prying one eye open, I tell him,
“Confessions of a Call Center Gal.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa Lim is the proud mom of two little girls and three rescue dogs. Lisa received a B.A. in Journalism from the University of Wisconsin, Madison and she is a former Technical Writer for a software company and Copy Editor for an IT publication.

Lisa is also an ex-call center gal. And during those Hellish years, she was the proud owner of a wireless headset. She is currently writing a sequel to
Confessions
.

If you enjoyed
Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel
, you might also enjoy
My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats
Poo
by Lisa Lim and Lucy
Liew
.
My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats
Poo
is a fun mix of politically incorrect South Park and Teen Lit. It’s a Young Adult novella that may also appeal to adults with a warped sense of humor.

“This novella is clever and the characters are fresh and jump off the page. If you enjoy reading Laurie
Notaro
, Chelsea Handler, or the woman from The Office, Mindy
Kaling
, you’re going to have fun with
My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats
Poo
.” ~ Chick Lit Central, Cindy
Roesel
(author and Emmy Award-Winning Broadcast Journalist)

“I cannot remember when a book made me laugh this hard.
My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats
Poo
is
politically incorrect and at times blatantly inappropriate, but it is amazing. I’m fairly certain that enjoying this novella as much as I did may send me to hell, but I’d also bet that it was worth it. If you are easily offended, this novella is probably one you’ll want to skip, but I think you’d be missing out.” ~
Booksessed

I hope you enjoyed
Confessions of a Call Center Gal
. If you have a moment, please help others enjoy this book too.

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. This e-book is lending-enabled, so please share it with a friend.

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. Please leave a review on Amazon.

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Please continue reading for an excerpt from
My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats
Poo
.

You can also continue reading for an excerpt from
Fourteen Days Later
, a romantic comedy by
Sibel
Hodge that was short listed for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a Highly Commended by the
Yeovil
Literary Prize 2009. Written in a similar style to Sophie
Kinsella
and Marian Keyes, it is
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
meets
Bridget Jones
.
Fourteen Days Later is available from
Amazon.com
and all the online retail stores.

My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats
Poo

Chapter One

“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”

 
~ Tinker Bell

J.M. Barrie (Peter Pan)

Well . . . that’s what Tinker Bell said.

I say
, “All of Utah is made of Mormons, arid deserts and seagull
poo
.”

Monica and I were leisurely shunting out of the school compound when a seagull swooped down on us. Heroically, I pushed Monica to the ground and yelled, “TAKE COVER! INCOMING! MORMON BOMBER!”

The Mormon Bomber went
Splat Splat Splat,
firing its mess all over Monica. Then the pigeon on steroids zoomed off into the cotton clouds.

I glanced down to assess the damage. Phew! I sagged with relief; I’d gotten off scot-free. Then I checked out how Monica had fared.

Crapola
! She was drenched in seagull
poo
.

I snorted loudly. “You’ve got seagull
shadoobs
all over you,” I pointed out. And then I went, “
Bwarhahahahahaha
.”

Graciously, I handed Monica a Kleenex.

She grabbed it and huffed, “Why the balls is Utah teeming with seagulls when there are no
friggin
’ oceans nearby? And they’re supposed to bomb the Mormons. Not us!”

I gave a slight shrug. “I think according to them (
ze
Mormons
), God sent the seagulls to eat up the grasshoppers that were destroying the crops in the
1800s
.”

Monica stared at me as I were an alien from planet
Kolob
. Um, planet
Kolob
is where
ze
Mormons
believe God lives.
 

“Don’t look at me like that,” I squawked. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”

A crooked woman with a crooked walk must have caught snippets of our conversation, because she stopped in her tracks and
tutted
, “Oh yes, those grasshoppers are also known as Mormon Crickets and those bugs terrified the pioneers. And with a lot of prayer, God worked His miracle and sent the seagulls to save us all.”

Then she handed us a copy of The Book of Mormon and hobbled off with her crooked stick.

We gaped at her, openmouthed. Dumbfounded.

Typical.

I’ll just add this to my
bajillion
copies of The Book of Mormon.

Welcome to Salt Lake City, Utah, where the Mormons preach, “Our Jesus is better than your Jesus.” Where you can buy Polygamy Porter, a beer with the infamous slogan: Why have just one?

Helllllllp
! Somebody get me
outta
here!

Monica and I were still strolling home from school and the sky was still
teeming with seagulls.

Glug
.
Glug.
I heard Monica’s belly rumble.

“
Dammit
!” she cursed under her breath. “I want a pork
Barbacoa
burrito.”

“I want to
marry
a pork
Barbacoa
burrito,” I moaned.

“My mom makes the best
Barbacoa
burritos. I can have her make some next week,” Monica offered, “and I’ll mail it to you!”

“You mean like a mail order burrito husband?” I tripped over a crack on the sidewalk. “Not from Russia, but from Mexico?”

“Oh snap! That’s heaven.” Monica released a dreamy sigh. “And he will have Mexican Monterey cheese hair.”

Half an hour later, we breezed into the best Mexican joint in Utah—Cafe Rio. While
scarfing
down our
Barbacoa
burritos, Monica proffered, “Weight Watchers is watching us.”

I giggled. “Who’s watching Weight Watchers?”

Monica sipped her Coke and seemed to ponder this for a bit. “Why,
Acai
Berry, of course.”

When I got home, I walked into the living room to find my whole family watching the NBA Playoffs on the tube. It was the Utah Jazz versus the L.A. Lakers. Kobe Bryant was at the free throw line and my dad yelled, “RAPIST!” like a hooligan.

Next, Lamar Odom was at the free throw line and my dad screamed, “SCROTUM!”

Shaking my head, I grabbed a slice of Papa Murphy’s pizza and retired to my room.
Ahh
, my room. A place of impregnable safety.

Away from rapists and scrotums.

And my
ballisticimus
dad.

After my dinner of cold pizza and Coke, I lay in bed with an ice pack balanced precariously on my nose. I can explain. You see, dad listens to NPR and last Friday, I heard on
Sci
Fri (Science Friday) about the theory of evolution. Apparently, Neanderthals from
colder climates are
characterized with narrow superior nasal dimensions, where else Neanderthals from warmer climates have broader noses. Don’t ask me why. Something to do with the aspects of airflow dynamics.