The Firing Range

People are being walked one-by-one through the office to the small storage room next to the kitchen area, the room Sue uses as an office; the room we’re now calling ‘the Firing Range’.

Through the narrow glass panel in the door Lucy, who sits closest to the room, can see the backs of those firing everyone- Sharon and Steph from HR.

She can also see the people being fired and throughout the day reports on the looks on their faces, the redness on their cheeks or the tears in their eyes as they lose their livelihoods the week before Christmas.

P45

‘Jeez, look at that,’ says Charlie pointing toward the back of the office.

Spinning round I see some people from the Charity section herded at a trolley loaded high with boxes of wine and big red tubs of Cadbury’s Celebrations.

Suddenly, in unison, they start dragging and pushing the trolley, moving it round the office, leaving bottles of wine and tubs of the chocolates on desks.

‘Hey,’ I shout out across the office, ‘I hope you’ll be leaving those on the desks of those down here who got fired yesterday,’

‘Don’t worry,’ someone calls back, ‘you’ll get something,’

‘Yeh,’ I shout, ‘our final payslip.'

Don't Waste Your 10p

A woman calls looking for Sharon.

‘Hello, may I speak to Sharon please?’ she says.

Spinning in my chair I see Sharon’s not at her desk.

‘I’m afraid she’s not at her desk,’ I say continuing my spin to see that Sharon’s actually in the small meeting, room powwowing with the other bigwigs.

‘Would there be anyone else to talk to in regards to recruitment for the contact centre?’ the woman asks.

I almost tell her not to waste her 10p, but instead I start laughing at the ironic timing of her request and suggest she call back after lunch.

Wrap-Up

‘All of you put your phones on wrap,’ says Sharon, circling the computer-island, ‘and come with me,’

Following her into the small meeting room we see Steph from HR, clipboard in hand, leaning against the back wall with an ominous look on her face.

Then the Director comes in and says- ‘Unfortunately we’ve made the decision to close the call centre,’

Then, attempting to soften the blow, he goes into some detail about why, which is about as comforting as having the history of the internal combustion engine explained to you just after your child’s been killed by a bus.

Tealeaves in my Headset

The phone’s ringing and even though I’m shouting into it, I’m getting no response.

‘Hello, hello,’ I shout at 3 callers who, getting no interaction, hang up.

Exasperated, I call out to Emma.

‘Emma, my phones broken, try calling me,’

Emma calls but can’t hear so I start poking buttons on the phone - mute, ready, speaker, busy.

‘Try removing your mouthpiece extension,’ Emma calls.

Removing it, Emma finally hears me.

‘Sometimes they clog up,’ she says, ‘and you need to clean them,’

‘I found it hanging in my cup before,’ I tell her, ‘so it’s probably full of tealeaves.’

Sing

A woman calls up to order a necklace.

Inputting her postcode I see her address is Doghouse Farmhouse.

‘Oh, Madam,’ I say, ‘your address is just like that song,’

‘What song’s that?’ the woman says.

‘That Tina Turner song,’ I say.

‘Did she sing a song about a doghouse?’ she asks me.

‘No, Madam,’ I tell her, ‘but she sang that one that went-

“Church house, gin house,

School house outhouse,”’

Then, losing all control, I start singing the chorus from Nutbush City Limits.

‘Jesus,’ says the woman, ‘I really wish I had some of whatever you had this morning.’

Me & Mr Jones

An old man calls.

‘Can I speak to Mr Jones?’

‘There no Mr Jones here I’m afraid, Sir,’ I tell him.

He shouts back at me ‘Mr A.J. Jones,’ as if I’ve asked him to clarify which Mr Jones.

‘You have the wrong number, Sir’ I say.

‘He’s the head of licensing,’ the old guy shouts, as if I’ve now asked him to clarify Mr Jones’s position.

‘Sir, there’s no Mr Jones here,’ I say.

‘Give me his number, then,’ the old boy hollers.

‘0845 781 777 667 4453.’ I lie, bored and eager to get him off the phone.

Planet

 A man calls up to order a bag.

‘Can it come to my work,’ he says and giving me his work postcode.

‘Sure,’ I say inputting the code, ‘going to Unit 1, Saturn house?’

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘make sure it’s not to your anus,’

‘What did you say about my anus?’ I say, shocked.

‘Uranus,’ he says, ‘all the buildings around here are named after planets. It could be Uranus house,’

Then I hear some men in the background laughing.

‘You get a lot of mileage out of the Uranus thing, don’t you,’ I say.

‘Sure do,’ he says laughing.

 

Emma B and the Evening Staff Christmas Party

Sunday we're discussing the staff Christmas party when Zoë, who's bagging raffle tickets, turns to Emma, who's typing and says- 'How did the evening staff's Christmas dinner go'?
'What evening staff Christmas dinner?' Emma says, frowning.
There's only 4 evening staff and Thursday 3 of them had come into the office, caked with make-up, ready for an after-work Christmas dinner that it seems Emma, the 4th evening worker, had not been invited to.
'Would you have gone anyway?' I say to Emma, who looks upset.
'Dunno,' she says, 'but I've just emailed them all saying thanks for the fucking invite.'

Titanic

Just before lunch I come out of the toilet and say to Jane and Lucy that I don’t want to be dirty, but have they noticed that you have to flush the toilet loads of times after doing pooh.

Lucy says she doesn’t have that problem.

Jane says the same thing and starts laughing.

Then I say I’d thought that the toilet wasn’t powerful enough and that on occasion I’d had to flush up to 4 times.

Then Jane says that my pooh must be like the Titanic; it takes about 4 hours to sink.

And then we're all laughing.

Scarecrow

During a lull in calls, Sarah and I get into a conversation about families.

‘My family nicknamed me Scary,’ says Sarah.

‘Like, for scarecrow?’ I say.

Sarah is nearly 6 foot tall, thin and all limbs and, to my eye, quite scarecrowish.

‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s from Sarah, then Scarer, then scary,’

‘Do you get on well with them, your family?’ I ask.

‘Yeh, I do,’ she says, ‘I never used to get on with my dad, I was sort of scared of him but then he, um like…uh…’

‘What, stopped molesting you?’ ’ I say and we start laughing.

 

Bread

Stratospherically bored with inserting catalogues featuring overpriced low-grade tat into envelopes, I start a conversation with Sarah.

‘I made a lovely loaf of bread last night,’ I tell her.

‘Yeh?’ says Sarah looking over the partition that separates our desks.

‘It was perfect, high and firm,’

‘Uh huh,’ says Sarah.

‘Foolishly, though, I left it out on the kitchen bench overnight and it was a bit hard this morning,’ I say

‘You should stick it in some water,’ Sara says helpfully.

‘Great idea,’ I say, laughing, ‘I should have though to put it in the shower with me this morning.’

 

Chat

‘Something’s showed up on my bank statement, right,’ says a woman calling for ShitBagsDirectToYourDoor.com, ‘it says Bag-Chat so I thought it might be something I bought from you,’

‘Sounds like a chat-line, Madam, not a handbag company,’ I tell her and we both start laughing.

Then I say, ‘Maybe someone with access to your account has been chatting,’

The woman stops laughing.

‘I tell you what,’ she says, ‘if he bloody has, his bloody bags’ll be on the doorstep,’

‘How exciting,’ I say, ‘would you call me back when you know?’

I start laughing again and, luckily, she does too.

Numbers

‘Me card’s like run out, right,’ says a shouty Northerner, ‘and what it is is right, it’s that I want to play them numbers I played…’

‘I’m afraid, Sir,’ I say, cottoning-on and cutting him off mid-flow, ‘but you’ve called…’

‘Don’t you interrupt me,’ he shouts, ignoring my warning, ‘I want to play my numbers over the phone,’

‘Sir,’ I say, ‘are you looking for the National Lottery?’

‘Well, who the bloody else?’ he shouts.

‘I’m afraid you’ve dialled the wrong…’

‘Well,’ he bellows, ‘put me through to the National bloody Lottery.’

'Okay, Sir.' I say and hang up on him.

No Call Canter Diary this week.

The diarist is on stress leave.

Stephi Isn't Pregnant

Stephi W passes my desk on the way back to hers.

‘Hey,’ I say, ‘are you alright?’

I’d seen Steph crying in the kitchen area on Monday and was hoping that whatever it was making her sad had passed.

‘I’m fine,’ says Steph, stopping at my desk, ‘I was just feeling a bit hormonal the other day,’

‘My god,’ I say, ‘you’re not pregnant, are you?’

‘No way,’ Steph says and gives me a slap on the back of the head, ‘don’t be such a gay,’

‘Ah, sorry Steph, but I have no choice.’ I say and we both laugh.

Fraught

There’s a fraught atmosphere in the office.

The bigwigs, who head up various teams and manage various accounts, spend the morning scurrying in and out of the small and big meeting room.

Between meetings they herd at the hot drink dispenser then dart off to their desks to reply to any urgent emails before zipping into another meeting.

They’re like ants running from a rain that’s about to fall.

Meanwhile in another part off the office The Charity Accounts people, in their Sunday best, self-consciously line up to have their mug shots taken in front of an oversized company logo.

The Coffee Machine Is Empty So Julie Says Shit

‘Anyone want some coffee?’ says Julie from HR passing us on her way to the kitchen bearing 2 full coffees, ‘That new kettle leaves a weird taste,’
‘It might have already been suggested, Jules,’ I say, ‘but why’s there no boiler hanging on the wall like upstairs, so we get constant hot water,’
‘Because,’ says Julie tipping her coffees in the sink, ‘they don’t boil water hot enough to make tea,’
‘The things you learn.’ I say turning back to my work.
Then a few moments later I hear Julie say, -‘Shit, now coffee’s run out in the hot drink dispenser.’

Serena Feels the Cold

This morning, just I’ve sat down and turned on my computer, I turn around to see Serena (who sits much further up the office, back to the fax machine and air-conditioner control cupboard) sitting hunched over the table in the small meeting room.

‘Alright, Serena?’ I say.

‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s cold in here. I’m freezing,’

‘Would you like to borrow my scarf?’ I say holding my scarf up.

‘No,’ she says.

‘What about my hat?’

‘No thanks,’ she says.

‘What about my coat?' I say.

‘No,’ she says hunched and rubbing at her arms with her hands, ‘I’m fine.’

Addict

After we’ve discussed Zoe and her boyfriend we talk about Jane’s ex-boyfriend, who it turned out had been less fond of Jane than he was of cocaine.
‘Have you seen the addict since you broke up?’ I ask Jane.
‘No,’ she says, ‘though I did find out he’d had sex with my cousin,’
‘What? That fat cousin you went to the fair with who’d had that old married boyfriend?’
‘Yep,’ says Jane over the top of the computer island, ‘the same one,’
‘Arseholes,’ I say.
‘Yep,’ says Jane, ‘and they had the sex the very same night we broke up.’

The Girl Who Forgot How to Spell Her Own Name

Jane, Lucy, Zoe and I are discussing Zoe’s boyfriend’s life pre- Zoë’.
‘How long was he with his ex for?’ Jane asks, ‘Were they together while he was in the RAF?’
It seems Zoë’s boyfriend had done a stint in the RAF.
‘It wasn’t the RAF,’ says Zoë’, ‘it was the air force,’
‘Duh,’ says Jane, ‘I think they’re like, the same thing,’
We all start laughing.
‘What can you expect,’ I say to Lucy and Jane, ‘from a girl who spells her own name wrong.’
This morning I’d heard Zoe telling a caller that her name was spelled Z-O-Y.

Emma and Neighbours

After lunch Emma McD stops off at my desk to ask what happened today in Neighbours.

‘What happened in Neighbours?’ she asks quietly.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘we can’t watch it anymore because we’re forced to take lunch an hour earlier,’

‘Oh no,’ says Emma, ‘that’s terrible. I’ll try to watch it tomorrow so I can tell you what happens,’

‘Nah, I don’t really care about Neighbours anymore,’ I say.

‘Really?’ Emma says.

‘Yeh,’ I say, ‘isn’t the human mind amazing. It’s only Thursday and I’ve already adapted to survive without something I thought Monday I couldn’t live without.’

 

Riled

A woman calls up, riled.
‘I’d like to complain to someone?’
‘Well, Madam,’ I say, feeling suddenly alert and up for a challenge, ‘you can complain to me?’
For the next few minutes I listen to a long-winded dull recount of her ‘regrettable association’ with our company until finally, bored out of my mind and wanting to finish an apple I’d started just before she’d called, I interrupt the woman's lament saying,-‘I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad experience, Madam. I hope it won’t put you off ordering with us in the future.’

And then I hang up on her.

A Camel, a Straw

This afternoon while sitting at my desk filling cardboard boxes with sachets of detergent it suddenly hits me that all the small things that had kept me in this unsuitable and unfulfilling job; the lovely people, the regular pay, my peaceful walk to work through the cemetery and my postprandial snooze on the lunch room sofa, no longer hold much weight.

And to top it all off an email has gone around informing us we must now take lunch almost 45 minutes earlier meaning lunchtime no longer coincides with the 1.45 broadcast of Neighbours.

The proverbial straw, the proverbial camel.

The Woman Who Blew a Gasket

A vicious bitch-cunt phones to complain and, unsatisfied with the outcome of the call demands, my name.
I give her my forename but she insists on having my surname.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Madam,’ I say.
‘Why the hell not?’ she shouts.
‘For privacy reasons, Madam,’ I say, calmly.
‘Oh that’s rich,’ she shrieks, ‘you’ve got all my bloody details,
‘Yes, Madam,’ I say, ‘but I don’t write them down on a piece of paper and take them home,’
While she blows a gasket I sit smiling, reassured that my choice to resign is the right one.

Jimmy, Jane and Horizontal Jogging

There are hardly any calls this morning so our conversation turns to Jane and Jimmy and whether their relationship has blossomed beyond a kiss
‘They’ve only like kissed as far as I know,’ says Zoe.
‘You know that if they go beyond that, and get into a proper relationship they have to tell HR,’ I say.
‘Yeh,’ says Alex, ‘it’s in our contract,’
‘Surely that’s against human rights in one way or another,’ I turn and say to Sarah.
‘Don’t know,’ says Sarah, ‘but I know they go jogging together,’
‘Would that be horizontal jogging?’ I say and we laugh.

Sarah, Her Mother, Her Aunts and the Tissues for Christmas

Sarah finishes an alphapuzzle she’s been working on for weeks and says, ‘My mother would have finished that off really quickly, she’s good at cryptic things,’
‘Is she having a good time away?’ I say.
Sarah’s mum has gone Up North somewhere to visit Sarah’s Nan.
‘Yeh, she called last night to ask what I wanted for Christmas from my aunts,’
‘Do they usually get you crap?’ I say.
‘One year they didn’t know what to get my sister so they gave her a box of tissues,’ Sarah says.
I start laughing.
‘And they weren’t even nice tissues.’ she says.

In Mexico Barry is a Girl's Name

During a lull in calls I turn to Sarah and say, ‘Where does your boyfriend live?’ 
‘Colchester,’ she says. 
‘Is he married?’ I say. 
I’m sure I’d overheard someone saying he was married. 
‘No!’ says Sarah, looking slightly surprised, ‘Well, I hope not,’ 
‘Have you asked him?’ I say. 
Sarah laughs. 
‘He’s Mexican,’ Sarah says, ‘his name’s Yuri,’ 
‘Barry?’ 
‘No,’ says Sarah, ‘in Mexico Barry’s a girls name,’ 
At this I laugh. 
Then Sarah tells me a Mexican-themed joke. 
‘Why did the Mexican take his wife to the cliff edge?’ 
‘Dunno,’ I say. 
‘Tequila.’ says Sarah and we both laugh.

Sarah's Ali-G Glasses

Today it’s ‘Wear Something Yellow for Poverty Stricken Worn-Torn Orphans Day’.
Sarah is wearing a pair of promotional sunglasses with yellow lenses that she got from Cuervo, the Tequila manufacturers."
‘They’re like Ali-G glasses,’
I say, ‘let me have a try,’Trying them on I get a feeling of instant happiness.
‘They make everything look really sunny,’ I say, ‘they should make these into anti-SAD glasses,’
Sarah starts laughing.
‘Maybe we could start a charity sending them to poverty stricken children in war-torn places,’ I say to Sarah as she answers a call, ‘these and a years supply of anti-depressants.’

The Guy From IT Who Has Arms Like Popeye

I’m at my desk talking to Jonathon from IT when I see another guy from IT, the one who’s sometimes known as Poison Dwarf, standing at the hot drink dispenser.
Noticing for the first time that his forearms are quite beefy, almost Popeye-ish, I call out to him- ‘Do you work out?’ 

‘At the gym? No,’ he says, ‘but I do climb,’‘Wow,’ I say, ‘like mountains and stuff?’ 

‘Yeh,’ he says holding out his hands toward me to show me his calluses.

‘Do you really just love climbing then?’ I say leaning forward to check out his climb-worn palms.

The Woman With a Pleasant Voice

A pleasant-voiced woman phones up wanting to return an item. 
‘Was the item damaged Madam?’ I ask. 
‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s just my husband really dislikes it and refuses to have it in the bedroom,’ 
‘Which item was it Madam?’ I ask looking at the callers order on my screen. 
‘It’s the black velvet bed cushion,’ the woman says, ‘I really love it but my husband’s making me get rid of it,’ 
‘Maybe you should get rid of him instead,’ I say. 
‘Oooh, don’t tempt me,’ she says. 
‘Madam, really! Airing your dirty laundry?’ I say and we both laugh.

Take Me Off The Mailing List

‘I just had a man call for the third time asking to be taken off the mailing list,’ says James, ‘I mean how hard is to stop sending people pieces of junk they don’t want?’

‘I had a woman on the phone the other day who was calling for her elderly neighbour,’ Zoe says, ‘who keeps getting mailings addressed to his wife even though she died on Christmas day,’

Suddenly Sarah spins on her chair to face us. 

‘That would be like, awesome to die on Christmas day,’ she says grinning, ‘Imagine how much it would like spoil everyone’s day.’

He Needs Some Water Filters

‘I need some filters for my water jug,’ says an elderly Northern caller.
‘You order those online, Sir,’ I say.
‘Well, I don’t have a computer,’ he says.
‘Could you get access to a computer?’
‘I’m 70 bloody 5,’ he shouts, ‘I’m not spending 800 pounds on a computer,’
Fed up with his attitude and beyond caring, I suggest he try an Internet café.
‘That’s like saying go play a piano when I’ve never even seen one,’ he shrieks, ‘so thanks for NOT helping,’
‘You’re welcome, Sir,’ I say, playing the passive/aggressive card, ‘anything else I can help you with?’

Horror Movie

A woman calls up to complain about some shitty overpriced chattels she's received and while she's at it kills 2 birds with one stone by telling me something weird's going on with our on-hold music. 
'It's crackly and sounds sort of bizarre,' 
'Really?' I say, 
'Yeh, a bit like a windy soundtrack from a horror movie,' she says. 
'That will give callers even more reason to be wound up and hate my guts when I take them off hold,' I say 
At that we both start laughing, and buoyed by the outcome of the call we hang up unexpectedly happy.

Can We or Can't We watch Neighbours?

Just after we finish discussing the unfairness of us not having access to the Internet, Sarah turns to me and says, 'Oh there are some new rules about lunchtimes too. We aren't allowed to take lunch at 1.45 anymore,'

My mouth drops open with the shock and I feel as if I might cry. 

Taking lunch at 1.45 until 2.45 makes the afternoon fly, plus we get to watch Neighbours. 

'FUCK! That means we can't watch Neighbours,' I say, 'I'm going to look for another job,' 

'I would too,' says Sarah, 'If I hadn't bought this month's bus pass already.'

Calm Down

I calm down from the shock of the lunchtime rule and Sarah and I talk about Neighbours. 
'I hated it when I began working here,' I say, 'but Martin lured me in and now I can't stop watching,' 
'I know,' says Sarah, 'I started off eating lunch at the table and ignoring it, then I moved a bit closer to the TV and next I was on the sofa watching it,'

'It's a slippery slope,' I say, 'like going to the pub for a cider, moving on to weed and then staying in all weekend shooting heroin between your toes.'

Mooncup

'Hey, I got a Mooncup on Saturday,' says Sarah spinning in her chair to face me. 
'Fab,' I say, 'did you try it out?' 
'Well,' she says, excited, 'I got my period that afternoon so it was really good timing. I love it. But I was telling my sister about it and she said "Disgusting"','

'What's that?' says Alex joining in, 'what's disgusting?' 

'Mooncup,' Sarah says. 
'Whu..?' says Alex. 
'It's like a rubber eggcup you fold over,' I say demonstrating with my fingers, 'and stick up the vagina to catch period.'
'Oh, mmmh, right.' Says Alex frowning and looking puzzled.

Thomas Edison

After lunch Lucy tries green tea, which initiates a conversation between Sarah and me about Chinese people use of English names.

'I had a friend,' Sarah says, 'called Peng, but he called himself Edison,' 
'Peng! Great sounding name,' I say. 
'I knew two Edisons,' says Sarah, 'and a Queeny,' 
At this we start laughing. 
'They must have got stuck in the olden days with their names,' I say. 
'I tried to tell Peng that Edison isn't really a name.' says Sarah, 'He said yes it is, there's Thomas Edison. Kind of cool that he didn't care it was a surname.'

Hats

Just as I sit back down at my desk after lunch, I turn around to see Emma standing behind Sarah and me. 
'The clients are in now.' Emma says looking down at us, 'so you have to take your hats off,' 
Staring at Emma, puzzled and slightly angered, I say, 'Um, just why should we take our hats off?' 
'It came from Amanda,' Emma says, 'she says it will look more professional,'

'You've got a Masters in human rights,' I say to Sarah after Emma's gone back to her desk and we've taken our hats off, 'weren't ours just violated?'

Bored, I Make a cat

Jesus Freak With a Vagina

A Jesus freak with a vagina calls for the shoebox Charity. 
'Can I include Christian messages in my shoebox?' 
'Nothing religious is allowed, Madam,' 
'What about the gospel?' she bleats. 
'There's not much point if the if the box goes to a child in Mozambique who can't read English,' 
'What about bible stories?' she insists. 
'What if, Madam,' I say, my anger rising, 'the boxes go where they already have a perfectly good religion of their own? They might find your Bible stories offensive.'

'I don't care,' the freak shouts, 'the remit of Christianity is to spread the word worldwide.'

Fringe

I get back from lunch and Lucy is cleaning her keyboard. 
'Have you seen how dirty the keyboards are? It's right mank,' she says. 
'Yeh,' I say, 'they're filthy. You must worry about touching it and then eating your crisps,' 
'Yeh, and apparently there's more germs on a keyboard than a toilet,' she says. 
'Actually,' I say, 'it's not more germs on the keyboard than the toilet. It's more germs in your fridge than the toilet.

'Hang on,' Jane stands up and shouts over the top of the computer island, 'How do you get so many germs on your fringe?'

Alex and Zoe Talk About Tea

'What did you drink at lunchtime?' I overhear Zoe say to Alex just after lunch. 
'I had, um a hot drink,' Alex says, one eye on the envelopes he's stuffing and the other on Zoe. 
'Like... coffee or tea?' says Zoe who's separating raffle tickets. 
'Tea' says Alex, 'a cup of tea,' 
'What do you drink at night, like... when you're at home?' Zoe says. 
'Tea,' Alex says, 'I'm a real tea man,' 
'I like tea too,' says Zoe, 'tea and a biscuit,' 
'Me too,' Alex says, 'but you, um, you do know you can die from too much tea?'

Sharon's in Hospital

Caroline's just walked into the office and is turning her computer on when I say- 'Cazza, is Shazza back today?' 
It seems Sharon, who was feeling poorly Monday morning, worsened and was in hospital by Monday afternoon. 
'No,' says Caroline, 'she's not back until Monday,' 
'Have they found out what's wrong?' I say. 
'Something to do with her arthritis, or angina or something like that,' says Caroline. 
'I wonder if they told her to quit smoking?' I say. 
'Well,' says Caroline, 'apparently smoking isn't good for something like arthritis,' 
'It's also apparently not good for something like living.' I say.

Day Off

More Wee on the toilet Seat

Zoë from Finance stops at my desk as she passes going back to hers.
'You know that wee on the seat in the disabled toilet?' she says looking down at me,
'It's not wee, it's splashing from the flush,'
'I realise that now,' I say, 'but this morning in the first toilet the seat was up, and yellow piss was all around the rim and on the floor. What's wrong with men?'

'Disgusting,' says Zoë.

'Maybe if we drew a vagina around the rim of the toilet that might help them to point straight,' I say.
'Doubtful.' Says Zoë laughing.

Called Your Bluff

A woman phones to order a handbag.
'I've seen a similar thing on another website but offering free postage. Would you match that?' she whimpers.
Even though it's within my power to grant free-shipping, there's something about the woman's tone so repellent that I say- 'Unfortunately, Madam, that would need authorisation by head office, so if I were you I'd go ahead and order elsewhere,'

She goes quiet and then mumbles, 'Um, well, now I'm on the phone, I might as well go ahead and order from you,'

'Called your bluff, liar.' I say into the phone after she hangs up.

Vicious

A woman calls.
'I want to return an item and it says it needs to be signed for. How does that work if it's being returned to your P.O box?'
'Oh, um, I haven't had that question before. I'm not too sure,' I say.

'Well, so I can return it, find out why don't you?' she viciously replies.
'Sure,'' I say, 'I'll pop you on hold a moment and check,'
Looking at the clock I see it's 9:17 when I put her on hold.
'Sorry to keep you, Madam.' I say, smiling, as I take her off hold at 9:34.

Alex Has Been Decorating

Monday Alex tells us he spent the weekend painting his living room.

'I didn't get much choice in the matter,' he says when I ask him what colour paint he used, 'the wife and her sister decided,'
'So, what colour is it?' Zoë calls out.

'Well,' says Alex standing up and tucking his shirt in, 'kind of white-grey, umm, it's a pale kind of...um'

'Champagne silver?' says Jane. 

'Magnolia?' Zoë says. 

'Sky blue? Says James. 

I sit back in my chair and laugh as Alex, now under real pressure, tries to explain exactly what colour he painted the living room.

The Carpet Fitters Are In

It's Saturday in the office and the carpet fitters are in.

They're carpeting the toilet hallway, replacing hideous grey faux-marble linoleum with brand new gunmetal-blue speckle-effect carpet tiles.

'Are you putting carpet in the actual cubicles themselves?' I ask the youngest of the carpet-fitters while I'm in the kitchen area boiling the kettle.

'Yeh,' he says, 'all of them except the disabled toilet,' 

'What?' I say, shocked by the omission, 'Isn't that a form of discrimination?' 

'Dunno,' says the carpet guy. 

 'Or,' I say pouring boiling water into my cup, 'its just because disabled people might wee on the floor?'

Joanne's Boyfriend is a Jockey

'Have a good day-off?' I call to Joanne as she goes past on her way outside to smoke. 
'Me and Andy went to the races,' she says. 
'That your boyfriend?' 
'Yeh, he's a jockey,' 
'Wow,' I say, surprised, 'Is he really short?' 
'Everyone asks that,' says Emma, who's hung-over and still wearing last night's makeup. 
'How did you go walking home alone?' says Joanne, who sometimes brings me home, as darkness now falls just as we leave work.

'Fine,' I say, 'It's well lit by the cemetery. No one even looked like they were interested in raping or knifing me.'

What Sue Does

Bored-shitless, I turn in my chair and stare into the small meeting room where the account managers are holding a pow-wow.
Arranged around the table are Charlie, Amanda and Gillian. Also in attendance are Steph from HR and Martin, Andrea and Caroline who, though not managers, assist the managers with overflow work.

Standing with her back to me, wearing a chiffon leopard-print blouse and drawing on a flip chart, is Sue.

It's never been clear to me what Sue does but she's so far up the chain-of-command that, while not a director, she's important enough to merit her own office.

Going Into the Toilet With Gillian

'There's pee on the seat again,' Gillian says coming out of the toilet area toward my desk. 
'No!' I say, 'how disgusting. I'm coming in to have a look,' 
'Yeh, come on,' says Gillian. 
Going in to the disabled toilet, Gillian points to the seat. 
'Look,' she says, 'pee,' 
Sure enough, there, on the dark blue seat, are 5 glistening beads of piss. 
'Foul,' I say shaking my head. 
'I know,' says Gillian raising her hands in exasperation, 'why can't they just clean it up?' 
'Don't know, but I'm going to get a photo of it,' 
'Good idea,' says Gillian.

Joanne Asks Me To Come Into the Toilet With Her

Half an hour after Gillian asks me to come and see the piss on the disabled toilet seat, Joanne comes over and tells me to go and have a look in the first toilet.

'Do I have to lift the lid?' I say. 
'Yes,' she says, 'have a look what's in there,' 
Opening the door, the toilet's still warm with human presence and lifting the lid I see the bowl is filled with sodden, stinking, toilet paper. 

Someone's dropped the kids off at the pool with too many towels,' I call out to Joanne who's standing in the hallway laughing.

Telling Zoe About the Frozen Feather

'I saw a frozen feather on my way to work this morning,' I tell Zoe as I lean down and turn my computer on. 
'Like, where? I mean, how?' Zoe says, frowning and blowing her nose. 
'It was so cold this morning,' I say, 'and I was walking through the cemetery and looked down and saw the little feather on the path,'

'Oh,' Zoe says. 

Then I lean across the red partition that separates our desks and say, 'I wonder why feathers don't freeze when they're on the birds. I mean, do feathers have a blood supply?'

'Dunno.' Zoe says.

Pilfering at the Royal Mail

A whiner calls up to order some pens.

'Couldn't you courier them to me?' she implores when I tell her they're despatched via post.

'I'm afraid not, madam,' I say.

'It's just that and it would be better if they were registered, the Royal Mail is dreadful and there's pilfering in our sorting office,' she says, a fat self-pitying sigh dripping from the end of her sentence.

'I'm afraid, Madam, we only send by post. You'd have to take up any Royal Mail shortcomings with Gordon Brown.'

Then I listen to her tsk and sigh until, unsatisfied, she hangs up.

Holding Pattern

Tracking a parcel, I'm stuck in a holding pattern with the courier's call center.
'They're not valid,' says the operative, when I give her the account and tracking numbers, 'but I'll check with my supervisor, bear with me,'

I'm put on-hold.

'That's the wrong account code,' she says, coming back online,
'Oh,' I say, 'let me pop you on hold and check with my supervisor,'
'Sure,' she says.
Double-checking, I find it's our only known code.
'Can't you find me via our company name?' I ask the operative.
'Don't think so' she says, 'but I'll pop you on-hold and check.'

'There's a song stuck in my head, that one that goes- 
It must have been love, 
But it's over now, 
It must have been good, 
But I lost it somehow... 
Who sang that?' I say turning to Sarah. 
'I never remember the names of those old bands,' Sarah says, 'but my dad does.
He loves his power ballads,' 
'How old's your dad?' I say. 
'60,' says Sarah, 'that's his era of music,' 
'The era of the great REO Speedwagon?' I say, singing, 
I'm gonna keep on luvin you, 
Cos it's the only thing I wanna dooooo-ooo-ooo-ooouh, 
I don't wanna sleep....' 

Sick Day

Baked Beans II

'You having baked beans today?' Joanne asks me as lunchtime nears. 
'Nah, couscous,' I say. 
Joanne starts poking her tongue in and out, simulating vomiting. 
'What do you like, then?' I say. 
'I'm a food nightmare,' says Joanne talking about her pernickety food habits, 'I wouldn't eat anything as a child,' 
'What about now, then,' I say. 
'Um,' she says, frowning and thinking, 'I eat mainly potatoes,' 
'Dull,' I say, 'I'd eat anything. I'd like to go on an eatathon in South East Asia and try stuff like gingered parrot wing with fried ox ovaries in peanut sauce and rice.'

Joanne, Martin and I Talk

There's a potential client in today so to make the call center look busier than it actually is, Martin and Joanne are sat at my computer-island pretending to answer phones.

'Did you see on the news the other day,' I ask them, 'where they found a baby factory in Romania?' 
'Really?' says Martin. 
'They had like a stable of breeders and were selling the babies for £75 quid a pop,' 
'Jesus!' says Joanne. 
'Yeh. But they couldn't have been very good quality babies,' I say, 'I mean, they couldn't possibly have fed the mothers properly for 9 months on £75.'

Finicky

I'm wanting to order a first-aid kit,' says my day's first caller, a shrill Irish scoutmaster. 

After boring me insensate with his long-winded, finicky questions, I get as far as inputting payment details when he says he'd rather pay by invoice.

'Sorry, Sir,' I say, sighing, 'I'll need a credit card or you'll have to order via head office,' 

'Heavens to Betsy, I'm not suffering through this process again,' he shrieks dropping the phone and fumbling for his credit card.

'You'll need that fucking kit,' I whisper down the phone at him, 'after your own troop tries to kill you.'

Sunflower

Miles holds a bag sunflower seeds out to me and asks if I'd like some.

'Where do you get such a big bag of them?' I say taking a handful.

'The cupboard at home. My mum's right into nuts and seeds and fish and stuff,' he says.

'Seeds make me windy,' I say.

'Me too,' Miles says, 'yesterday was terrible,'

'It's because little bits of seed get lodged in the kinks of your pooh-tube and ferment,' I tell him, 'so you need to chew them well,'

'Oh, right,' says Miles holding the bag of fart-making seeds out to me again.

Baked Beans

Steph's decided she isn't going to the supermarket now so can't get my baked beans. 
Inquiring around the office I find that Joanne is going and could get them. 
'Heinz?' she says. 
'Course,' I say, 'though Sainsbury's aren't bad,' 
'I'm not going to Sainsbury's,' Joanne says, 'so Heinz will have to do,' 
'What if the shop doesn't have them?' I say. 
'I'm going to SPAR, they should do,' she says. 
'Yeh,' I say, 'SPAR's a supermarket for the poor so they'll have them,' 
Joanne laughs. 
'Anything else?' 
'A 1/2 bottle of wine,' I say, 'to get me through the afternoon?'

Trick-or-Not?

Andrea and the woman who I thought was a warehouse manager but who it turns out isn't, are discussing Trick-or-Treating.

'I like it when my kids go out,' says the non-manager, 'but I hate it when other kids come to my door begging,' 
'I think it's dangerous sending kids around the streets asking for sweets,' says Andrea. 
'I hope they come to mine,' I say, 'I'll dip some boiled sweets in LSD and hand them out,' 
Andrea laughs and says 'I never know whether you're being serious,' 
'Check the newspapers the day after Halloween,' I say, 'and you'll find out.'

Sad As

Sunday morning I'm working with Emma B, who I haven't worked with for ages, and we spend the first half hour discussing Seasonal Affective Disorder.

'I bought a light, 'Emma tells me, 'you know, one of those anti-SAD lights that stop you getting depressed?

'Do they really work?' I say.

'Well, I only bought the cheapest one but it works well enough that I'm feeling quite happy. I mean, this time last year I was so miserable I was thinking about topping myself,'

'Wow,? I say, 'just imagine if you'd bought the really expensive light, you'd probably be feeling ecstatic.'

Alex Thinks I Wrote the God Delusion

Alex is at his desk holding aloft my copy of the God Delusion that I've lent Miles. 
'Is this yours? Alex says. 
'Yeh,' I say. 
'Really?' says Alex. 
'Yes,' I say, 'why?' 
'I can't believe it,' he says. 
'Why? I say, thinking Alex is weirded out that I'd own a book with God in the title. 
'How did you go about it? I mean, did you take it somewhere and have it printed out?' 
Then I see Miles laughing and the penny drops. 
Miles has told Alex that I wrote the God Delusion. 
And it seems Alex has believed him.

Amanda Gets a Body-Wrap

Friday morning Amanda, who last night had a body-wrap and lost 6 and a half inches, and Charlie and I discuss methods of fat reduction.

'Body-wrap,' says Amanda, 'an inch from each thigh, 3 from the waist,' 
'Kerry Katona?' Charlie says, 'She had liposuction and then went back on her normal diet of crisps and 2 weeks later she almost doubled in size,

'Don't you eat crisps?' I say to Charlie. 
'Yeh, loads,' she says, 'but I also eat vegetables,' 
'Um, logic-wise,' I say, 'isn't that a bit like saying you shoot-up a lot of heroin but also drink water.'

Fart

Amanda's back from holiday laden with American sweets. 
Martin has a box of Nerds, which he shares with me throughout the morning, and Charlie has a super-sized bag of jellybeans in her draw and I snatch handfuls while she's out smoking.

By the afternoon my stomach is so bloated from the sugar that I involuntarily fart while a senior a manager from the warehouse is standing by my desk talking to Charlie.

The fart, which makes a pop-pop sound like the exhaust on a low-horsepower car, smells so foul that I'm ashamed and alert Charlie to its presence via email.

Tit Man

I take what seems like the 467,000th call this morning for the 'Bribe a Bosnian She-Orphan into Loving God with a Barbie Doll at Christmas' appeal.

'I need my gift boxes collected,' says the woman on the phone. 

'Sure Madam,' I say, 'let me have your details and I'll find the person you need to contact,' 

Inputting the caller's postcode into my system, I see the contact is a Mr Titman. 

'How are you spelling the surname?' the caller timidly asks. 

'T-i-t, as in the female anatomy,' I say smiling, 'and M-a-n, as in created in the image of God.'

Maria's Finally Given Birth

Maria's finally given birth and phones up to see if everyone's in today so she can bring the baby in and show her off. 
'Hello,' she says when I answer the phone, 'it's Maria,' 
'Hey,' I say, 'congratulations,' 
'Thanks,' she says. 
'When are you bringing her in?' I say. 
'This afternoon if everyone's about,' she says. 
'I think we all are,' I say looking around the office,' 
'Great,' she says. 
'Can I have a hold when you get here?' I say. 
'Of course,' Maria says. 
'And of the baby too?' I say and we laugh and then I hang up.

Crap

Lucy and I are discussing the new work rota when a call interrupts us for the 'Bribe the Children into Loving Jesus with a box of Crap at Christmas' appeal.

'Hello,' says the voice, 'It's Bernadette Mary O'Boyle from St Joan's of Our Lady Primary, Belfast and I'm trying to get in touch with a Deidre who's coming in to do a bible study class,'
'Who?' I shout down the phone angrily, the phrase 'bible study' having raised my ire.
'It's Bernadette Mary O'Boyle from...'she attempts to repeat until I interrupt with 'Wrong number, call head office' and hang up.

New Guy

A new guy's starting this morning and after being shown to the small meeting room for induction, he stands staring through the window at us.

Then, mysteriously, he disappears. 

'Anyone seen him?' Sharon calls looking round the office for him. 
'He went toward the toilet,' says Alex. 
'I saw him going toward the front door,' says Gillian. 
'Jesus,' says Sharon, 'that's my personal world record, scaring someone off after only ten minutes,' 
'I'm glad', I say, 'he looked exactly like one of those American serial killers from the 70's who kept his victim's par-boiled body parts in a freezer.'

Nibble

In between calls we're tearing filled tickets from raffle books and boxing them ready for drawing. 
'I've accidentally ripped loads in half,' says Zoe, the new girl who last week I suggested wear a bikini on her first day.

'I spent half an hour last night Sello-taping the ones I ripped back together,' I say. 

'Is it okay if I use scissors to cut them instead of tearing them off?' asks Miles, the longhaired handsome boy who on his first day had caused Lucy to blush.

'I really don't mind if you want to nibble them off.' I tell him.

Foul

In a foul mood I stand quietly behind Caroline's chair waiting for her to notice me so I can tell her about an issue I have which she can resolve.

'Cazza,' I say when she finally turns around, 'I've got a customer wants to order some stuff and the relevant codes aren't on the system...and, seriously, I'm so sick of this fucking job,'

'Why?' Cazza says.

'Because,' I say, 'I dislike spending half my day lying to people on the phone,'

'Try my job then, I spend all my day lying to people on the phone,'

Day Off

Somerfield

Tuesday I'm working an emergency late-shift with Phyl and, during a lull in calls, our conversation turns to which supermarket we prefer.
'My hubby don't like me shopping in Sainsbury's,' says Phyl, 'I usually go to ASDA. Or sometimes Somerfield,' 
'I used to shop in Somerfield,' I say, 'and don't get me wrong, I'm all for employing low-functioning people, but they're so stupid at the checkout,'
'They're lovely in the Somerfield where I live,' says Phyl,' all the checkout girls know my name,'
'God,' I say, 'the ones in the store where I shopped hardly even know their own names.'

Alison's Sick

Alison's sick and there's no one to work the late shift so Sharon sends Emma around the office asking for someone to cover it.

'Anyone feel like doing an extra shift,' Emma says, circling our computer island.
Everyone stares up at Emma, looking purposely bewildered, as if she's just made the request in ancient Hebrew.
'It's £14 an hour,' Emma says hopefully.
No one budges until finally I relent.
'Oh for fuck sake,' I shout,' I'll do it but I want £28 an hour,'
'Fat chance, luvvy.' Sharon laughs as she passes me on her way to the hot-drink dispenser.

Sharon's Ears

First thing in the morning Sharon and I are talking about our ears. 
'I can't hear anything,' I call out to Sharon, 'mine are blocked,' 
'Me too,' she says, 'I've got my ear infection back,' 
'At night,' I say, 'lie on your side with a clove of garlic I your ear,' 
'Garlic?' Charlie shouts, spinning in her chair to join the conversation. 
'Yes,' I say, 'it's a natural antibiotic,' 
'What if the garlic slips and gets stuck right down in your ear?' says Charlie. 
'I think you'd find yours would probably slip through and out the other side.' I say.

Shit

New-guy Nad and me are in the kitchen making tea. 
'You liking your new job here?' I say. 
'Bit busy with Suzy away, but it's good,' he says. 
'Good,' I say. 
'Yeh,' he says. 
Then we stand there silently while the kettle boils until the smell from the sink, which has been giving off a bad odour for months, becomes obvious and, because I don't want Nad to think I've farted, I say -

'Jesus, can you smell that? It smells like shit down here,' 

'All I can smell is coffee,' says Nad.

'No, Nad,' I say, 'it smells like shit.'

Blush

Monday morning and Sharon's got the new phone-answerers in the small meeting room, inducting them into call center life.

'He's got a pretty face,' I say to Lucy about the only male there, a longhaired, handsome, young man in a thick dark coat.'Oh, shut up,' Lucy says looking in through the window at him, 'he does not,' 

Suddenly Lucy starts to blush. 

'Oh my God, Lucy', I say, 'you're blushing,' 

'It's because,' Lucy leans forward and whispers, the red of her cheeks intensifying the ginger highlights in her hair,  'just as I looked in, he stared back and smiled.'

Best Friends

Clare takes another call from the woman who, yesterday being the anniversary of her daughter's death, made a large donation to the animal charity.

'Oh, bless,' I hear Clare saying. 
'Oh, bless,' she repeats a few seconds later. 
'Oh bless,' she says again following a few moments of silence. 
This oh-ing and blessing goes on for almost 20 minutes until Clare finally hangs up and says, 'She just told me her daughter died from drinking because her husband and best friend ran off together,'

'I had a best friend like that.' calls Julie from the other end of the office.

Clare Throws an After Shave Bottle

After Clare finishes telling us a story involving a handsome accountant, sex, mud, a flatmate called Claudio, and a bicycle being stolen from outside a pub, she tells us she had a fight with her husband on Thursday morning and threw to top of an aftershave bottle at him.

'I launched it at him screaming "Nobody walks away from me"' she says, 'and then I went back inside, got one of his fucking shirts and a pair of his jocks and threw them at him too and told him not to fucking come home. And guess what? He fucking didn't.'

Sharon's Olympically Busy

After lunch I take a phone call for Sharon E who's elevated the state of being busy to an Olympic sport. 
'Hello, can I speak to Sharon?' says the voice, 'I'm just returning her call,' 
'I'm afraid she's not at available at the moment,' I say as I spin round to see Sharon's chair empty. 
'Oh, okay,' says the voice, 'but maybe you could help,' 
'Okay, I can try,' I say. 
'I'm starting Monday and I know it sounds silly but, well, what should I wear?' 
'Well,' I say, 'on your first day we usually ask that you wear a bikini.'

Gillian and the Disabled Toilet

'I went in to the disabled toilet,' I tell Gillian and Andrea when I get back from doing my latest wee. 
'I always go in there,' Andrea says, 'it's really sunny and bright,'

'I've often thought about going in there,' says Gillian, 'but I've always thought, I dunno, it's sort of... grubby,'

'Oh no, I think those other toilets, the main ones, are grubby,' says Andrea. 

'Well,' Gillian whispers, 'I finally went into the disabled toilet today and guess what? There were drops of wee on the seat,

'Eeeewwww, yuk,' cries Andrea. 

'I wonder whose drops they were?' I say.

Northern Prick Part I

What I can only describe as a patronizing Northern prick calls up the animal charity line. 
'I'd like to do it then,' he says. 
'Would you like to sponsor or make a one off donation?' I say. 
'Well, when's it come out of my account?' he says gratingly. 
'I can't tell you the exact date, Sir,' I say, thinking I bet your children hate your guts. 'but it's £5.10 a month for 25 months,'

He tsks. 

'I want to know when it comes out of my account,' 

'Like I said, Sir, I can't tell you the exact date as...'

TBC

Northern Prick Continued

'Maybe you don't understand me,' the condescending cunt interrupts, 'I want to know when it comes out of my account, weekly...monthly?'

'Like I said, Sir, £5.10 a month over 25 months,' 

'So it's monthly then,' he tsks, 'that's all I wanted to know,' 

'Right, Sir,' I say, 'I need to take some details. What's your home address?' 

'69 Mungrell Street, Merdham, Acklington,' he says.

'How are you spelling Acklington, Sir?' I ask just to wind him up. 

'A.C.K.L.I.N.G.ton,' he says, voice rising, 'like it sounds,' 

'Might have been A.Q.U, Sir,' I say,' 

'Oh, might it have been?' the bastard shouts.

Day Off

Day Off

The Bosses Are In

Arriving at work this morning I see the big meeting room behind my desk is full of unfamiliar people.

'We got the bosses from head office in,' Sharon calls out to me as I go into the kitchen to put my lunch in the fridge, ' so you need to... y'know....'

'What,' I say, 'not use the pot plants as a toilet, not get drunk on my lunch break?' 

Sharon laughs.

'Just keep the office tidy,' she says. 

'Sure,' I say putting my bananas in the cupboard instead of leaving them lying around rotting on my desk like most days.

A Series of Bitches

This afternoon I get a series of bitches on the phone, one after the other.
The first one carps on about a bag that should have been delivered to her this morning but on checking the system I find her orders been cancelled.
'You mean I've been waiting here all day for a bag that's not even been sent?' 
Fucking genius, I'd like to screech down the phone at her but I don't because I've worked out that nothing increases an irate customer's rage more than a simple answer.
'Correct, Madam,' I say, falling silent to her enjoy indignant tsking.

Disgusted

A woman whose behaviour I can only describe as self-pity-by-proxy, calls chasing a left-handed pen she's ordered for her son.
'It should be here, I promised him. All his friends have one and he's had to go to school today without. You know it's hard enough being left handed,' she whimpers, as if the child, polio-stricken, was dragging himself pen-less to school on callipers, 'and now he has to wait for his pen,'
'Delivery is 3 to 5 days, Madam,' I say.
'I'm disgusted.' she spits, her outrage, which I'm enjoying, peaking with her slamming the phone in my ear.

Talking About Cheryl Cole

After lunch Charlie, Gillian, Andrea and Caroline and I talk about Cheryl Cole.
'Did he cheat on her, that Ashley footballer husband?'
'Yeh,' says Caroline.
'How could anyone cheat on Cheryl Cole? What the fuck's wrong with the man?' I say.
'They all do it,' says Charlie, 'Look at Beckham and that Rebecca thingy?'
'Are you talking about that squalid Rebecca Loos?' I say.
'Yeh,' says Charlie, 'She's amoral,'
'She'd literally 'Do' anything,' I say, 'remember when she wanked that pig off on TV? I wouldn't even do that drunk,'
'Not on camera, anyway,' says Charlie and we all laugh.

Watch

A woman phones up to order a watch, a present for her son.

As the call goes on the woman's breathing, already heavy, becomes almost a pant.

'You see, I can't go out,' she says whilst discussing the best method for delivering the gift, 'I'm unwell,'

'Oh dear,' I say opening a bag of Worcestershire sauce flavoured Rye Vitas Caroline had given me.

'Yes,' she says, 'I've got tumor-filled lungs,'

'Oh dear,' I repeat, genuinely shocked.

'Yes,' she says, 'I've had 2 operations to remove them and I'm going back to ask for another. So, really, I am rather unwell.' 

Sharon's Nuts

This morning as I arrive at my desk Sharon holds a bag of nuts out to me.

'Look' she says, you'll be proud of me, I got nuts.'

Sharon spends at least half an hour a day mocking me for what I eat, however today she's taken a leaf out of my book.

'I was thinking about you last night at Tesco,' she says, 'while I was doing my shopping.

'Dear Jesus, Shazza, I'm scared' I say chosing a Brazil but from Sharon's bag of mixed nuts, 'my wife doesn't even think about me while shes doing her shopping.'

Amanda and the Stuffed Toy

Amanda's rampaging around the office with a knitted toy in her hand.
The toy should be white with a blue stripe, but there's some doubt as to whether the real-life colour matches that advertised in the catalogue.

'The stripe's black,' I hear Sharon say.
'Black,' says Jane.
'That's black,' says Andrea.
'Black,' I say, 'and I should know, I've been to art school,'
'Rubbish,' says Amanda refusing to face the truth.

'Probably the Chinese convict-slaves making them under candle light in prison can't tell the difference between black and blue thread.' I whisper to Charlie who's now examining the toy.

Flat Battery

A woman from 'Up-North' calls looking for a bag. 
'Can I check to see if you have a baaaaaag that's on saaaaale?' she says, the last syllables trailing as if the battery that powers her vocal chords is running down.

'Yes, we do have that item,' I say checking my system.
'Brill-yaaaaant,' she says, 'I'd like to order it, pleaaaaa-sssse,' 
'Have you ordered with us before, madam?' 
'Yeee-ssss...' she says. 
Inputting her order details, I see she's a 'Mrs' and for the rest of the call I ponder on what kind of fool could wed himself to such a drone.

Desk, Oh Desk

Steph's Not Well

Steph passes my desk on her way to the toilet and as I'm 'bored shitless', I engage her in conversation.
'Alright Steph?' I say.
'No,' she says, 'I feel awful,'
'Still?' I say.
Steph has a bad back from running around on high-heels at a wedding reception on the weekend and to top it off, she now has a cold.
'My nose is running like mad,' she says.
'Stick a couple of tampons up it while you're in the toilet,' I say.
But Steph's already moving off and doesn't hear so I end up laughing at my own weak joke.

Cat Shit

On my way back to my desk from IT I pass Zoe who's just come out of the toilets. 
'You'll be glad you didn't get that kitten,' she says laughing. 
I'd toyed with the idea of taking a homeless kitten that had been offered around the office but decided against it on financial grounds.
'My cousin took it,' Zoe continues, 'and the kitten and the cat she's already got had a fight,' 
'Really?' I say. 
'Yes,' says Zoe, 'and the kitten sulked in the kitchen until every one went out and then it shat in the other cat's food bowl,'

What's Giles Called His Baby?

'How's your new baby?' I say to Giles while I'm down in IT waiting for Simon to fix a problem with a customer's account.

'Good,' says Giles.'What've you decided to call it?' I ask him.

'Mabel,' he says.

'Sorry?' I say thinking I've heard incorrectly.

'Mabel,' he repeats.
'Lovely,' I tell him.
Then Giles's phone rings and, as he answers it, the other IT guys begin mocking the name choice.
'Maybe it's Maybelline,' sings the chubby guy whose name I don't know who sits next to Simon.
'Lip-gloss,' sniggers the guy known as 'Middle-Earth' who sits next to Giles.

Breasts

First thing this morning Alex and I have a conversation about breasts.
'So...are you a tit man, then?' I ask Alex after he's mentioned something about his wife's breasts.
'Um, I don't know what it is about men and breasts,' he says, 'they um...'
'They're trying to get back on them,' I say, interrupting him, 'it's a mother thing,'
'Hmm,' says Alex, 'maybe it's because they don't, um, have any of their own?'
'Maybe,' I say, 'don't know. I think it's about breast-feeding. They're trying to get back to mummy-suckle love,'
'Hmm,' says Alex frowning, 'that's, um, that's an idea.'

The Cough

Tina calls out from her desk that it's time to leave the personal planners and go back to my phone. 

'It's time to go back to your phone,' she calls to me across the office, 'so Jane can go on lunch,'
I never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad I'm going back to answer phones because the desk where I've been sitting faces the finance department and one of the guys there, whose name I won't mention, has a cold and spent the morning coughing god only knows what germs over the top of the red partition at me.

Bigwigs

From where I sit, just past the entrance to the toilets, I can see the company bigwigs gathered in the kitchen, talking in low voices about important things that don't concern us, the lowlife phone answerers.There's the company director wearing a 3-piece suit, the head of the warehouse wearing a green fluorescent safety vest and the head of something else wearing a white, frilled shirt, reminiscent of the era of the New Romantics.
The hot drink dispenser is grinding coffee so I only catch a few words of their conversation, -'Essential', 'crucial', 'anticipate', 'fulfil', 'deadline', 'logistics' and incongruously, 'shit'.

I Don't Want Anyone From IT Getting Annoyed With Me

Alex is in the kitchen talking to Sharon and making me coffee when I hear Sharon say to him, 'Are you making Andy coffee?'

As I hear Alex say no I slide my chair back from my desk and call -'No, he's making me one,' 
Then Sharon says-'That's Andy's cup you're using,' 
I'm aware that the cup, a silver heat-retaining mug from Starbuck's, might be Andy's because I've seen him walking past me from the kitchen to his desk with it.

'Don't use that cup, then,' I call to Alex, 'I don't want any IT guy getting upset with me.'

My Legs Are Killing Me

All morning my legs have been aching so that by the afternoon they're literally throbbing.
'My legs are killing me,' I say to Lucy who's sitting back in her chair, sucking on the end of a black pen.
'Do you want Maria's foot rest?' she says, leaning under her desk, pulling out Maria's footrest and holding it up in the air. 

'No, it's okay,' I say, 'I'm using a cardboard box I found in Sue's office. It's taller and my feet need to be higher than my arse so the blood drains back into the main section of my body.'

Lunch at One

This morning I'm so hungry that I've eaten 3 bananas and my emergency sandwich before 11 am.
'I'm starving this morning,' I say to Lucy. 

Jane, who I can't see because she's on the other side of the computer island and has her chair quite low today, says, 'I'll take a 12 for lunch,'

'No,' I say back, 'I'll take the 1,'

'Yes,' says Jane, popping her head up like an emu, 'that's what I said,'  

'Oh, I couldn't hear you.' I say taking the wrapping from a toffee apple and pistachio cereal bar I got from the vending machine.

The Daughter-in-law's Handbag

'I'm on your website trying to order a bag for my daughter-in-law,' says a woman-caller.
'Yes?' I say.
'It says it's out of stock,' she says.
'Yes?'
'If it comes into stock will I get it by October 30^th?' she says.
'Yes, madam, that leaves plenty of time,'
'Will I need to sign for it?' she says.
'Yes, Madam,'
'What time will the courier deliver it?'
'Madam,' I tell her, 'that's up to the gods,'
She laughs.
'I'll say a prayer for it then,'
'It'll need it,' I say and we both laugh until I say bye and hang up.

Jane's Dizzy

'I'm still feeling dizzy,' Jane calls out from her desk on the other side of the computer-island. 
Jane went to the fair last night and it seems something's made her sick. 
'If you went on one of those rides then your brain's gotten sloshed from side to side in your skull,' I say. 
'I went with my cousin,' says Jane, ignoring my comment about her brain. 
'The one that's having an affair with the married man?' says Lucy. 
'It's over now,' Jane tells us, 'he said she was too young and that all the fun had gone out of it.'

Zoe's Wearing Nice Trousers

I'm sitting at my desk, absent-mindedly spinning in my chair and eating my third banana, when a girl from Finance whom I'm about 97% sure is called Zoe, heads my way wearing a pair of classy 1940's style pleated trousers.

'I really like your trousers,' I say as she goes past my desk toward the front door.

'Oh, thanks,' she says, stopping, looking down at her pinstriped, wide cuff trousers and giving them a self-conscious wipe with the palm of her hand.

'Yeh,' I say, 'really, really nice,'

'Oh, cheers,' she says, resuming her journey and smiling back at me. 

Alex's Mother's problem

A woman calls up looking for a handbag she's ordered from the Million-Dollar-Handbag-Rip-Off Company.

'Hello, good morning, hi,' she trills when I answer my phone, 'I'm looking for a bag I ordered a few weeks ago that should have been coming in,'

Just as I say to the customer 'let me look into it for you', Alex, not realising I'm on a call, leans across the partition to tell me some news about his mother.

'My mother's got water on her foot,' he says.

'Water?' I say laughing and putting the customer on hold, 'don't you mean to say fluid?' 

Alex Gets a Difficult Customer

I'm eating peanuts and raisins and listening in to a conversation between Alex and what sounds like a difficult customer.

'I'm sorry, Madam, I'm afraid there's nothing I...' says Alex, the customer obviously interrupting him. 

'I understand that, Madam,' Alex says, 'but it's been stated by the bigger people that...' 

I lean forward to catch Alex's eye and smile at him.

'Yes, Madam,' he's saying, shaking his head, 'but I'm afraid I can't...'

Alex has his head down now, rubbing his temple with his thumb.

'Yes, and I do understand that, Madam,' he's says, resuming the battle, 'however I can't...' 

Lucy Doesn't Like Bananas

I'm eating a second banana when Lucy looks over and sees me.

'You're making me hungry,' she says.

'You want a banana?' I say, 'They're natural anti-depressants?'

'Nah,' she says, looking in her computer cupboard for something to eat, 'I don't really like bananas,'

'Jesus,' I say, 'I'm shocked. What kind of fruit do you eat then?'

'Normal fruit,' she says, 'like, just, like apples and stuff,'

'Pineapple?'

'Never had pineapple,' she says, shaking her head.

'What about mango? Have you ever had mango?'

'Nope,' she says opening up a pack of Quavers she's found, 'never eaten anything like that.' 

Vegan

'I had liver and, um, bacon yesterday.' Alex says as he passes me on his way back from the toilet, 'Haven't had it for ages,'

'Oh, yeh?' I say looking up from my monitor.

'Yeh,' he says, 'my mum gets bargains from Sainsbury's, so she got it for

us,'

'Oh,' I say, 'nice,'

'Yeh,' he says, 'we had it with some mash and peas and gravy,'

'Oh, right,' I say, as my phone starts ringing.'

'Yeh,' says Alex says sitting back down at his desk and smiling at me, 'just

thought I'd mention it, you being a vegan and all.' 

I Feel Limp

After lunch I feel weak, almost limp, as if some bone-sucking machine has come along and taken out those bones necessary for keeping me upright.

The phone is silent and as Alex has been sent to the warehouse I sit, sagging and eavesdropping on a conversation between my colleagues, James, Jane and Lucy.

Then the vending machine maintenance man comes in and I watch him try key after key in the lock of the hot drink dispenser until my attention is diverted back to my young colleagues who are now talking about nudity, teen-pregnancy and throwing-up drunk in rose bushes.

Foul

This morning when I get to work my fingers are so swollen I can't get my rings off and to make matters worse a new account starts today and none of us have been properly trained.

'We're going to be getting calls for the animal charity,' says Sharon standing at our computer island, hands on hips, 'so make sure you've read all your bump. Bumph, I mean,'

Everyone starts printing out 'bumph' and running to the printer to collect it, and suddenly, unexpectedly, I'm in a foul mood.

'I'm in a foul mood,' I say to Alex, ignoring my ringing phone.

Skank

It’s Saturday afternoon and with only me and Lucy from the day shift in the office, Clare starts filling me in on the gossip I’ve missed out on.
First she tells me about an unpopular girl who used to work here, and who still works with Clare’s husband.
‘She’s a dirty skank,’ says Clare, ‘she fucked her married boss in his front garden,’
Next she tells me about someone else who used to work here, someone she fell out with.
‘I hacked in his tube of Pringles,’ says Clare laughing, ‘and put the mouthpiece from his phone up my bum.’

Gherkins

‘Remember when I worked here before,’ I say to Claire when she gets back from Tesco with her lunch, ‘you used to buy bags of carrots?’
‘And look what I got,’ she says laughing and pulling carrots from her shopping bag.
‘And look what else I got,’ she says holding up a jar of gherkins and unscrewing the lid.
‘Ooh, I love them,’ I say putting my fingers in the jar and tugging on a gherkin.
Suddenly, the gherkin, which is lodged horizontally in the jar, snaps and flings itself across the office, raining vinegar on Claire’s boots and jeans.

Maria is leaving to have a baby

Around 4.15, hearing a noise I look up from my desk to see everyone from the other departments gathering behind Emma's desk.

Then Sharon, who is about to make a speech for Maria who's leaving to have a baby, clears her throat.

Then Maria, who is reading the front of an envelope, looks up and sees everyone and says 'Oh no'.

Then Sharon makes a speech in which she talks about herself more than Maria, everyone claps, and then Caroline brings out three big gift-wrapped parcels and then my fucking phone rings and I don't get to see the unwrapping.

Underpants

An elderly Scottish man phones looking for left-handed underpants.

‘Hellooooo,’ he says, ‘d’ya sell left-handed underpants?’

Thinking it’s a test-call or a joke, I start to laugh.

‘Let me put you on hold,’ I say, ‘and check,’

‘Och, shame’ he says when I tell them we don’t stock them, ‘y’see, I’ve only got one arm and I’m taking water pills and I’m 75 years old and…’

After this I tune-out but for the rest of the day I’m stuck with the unpleasant image of an old, 1-armed man struggling to pull his penis through the front of his wrong-handed underpants.

Splinter

Just after lunch a customer calls up from the Overpriced-Third-World-Made-Tatt Catalogue Company.

‘I’ve just received my order,’ she says, ‘and I’d like to send it back,’

‘Oh dear,’ I say, ’was it damaged in some way?’

‘Not so much damaged,’ she says, ‘as dangerous,’

I take the woman’s order number and see that she’s ordered some kind of wooden notice board.

Before I can say anything the customer launches into a description of the item.

‘It’s shabby,’ she says, ‘and rough and unfinished. I got splinters all up my hand just taking the bloody thing out of the packaging,’

 

 

Lewis's Gay Voice

This morning Lewis starts commenting on the fact that everyone is wearing purple.
'I wonder what's going on,' he says in that really gay voice of his, 'it seems like everyone's come into the office wearing purple,'
Looking around the office I see glimpses of purple but it's hardly a sea of the colour.
Thinking, though, that the purple might have something to do with September the 11th
approaching, I look down at my clock to check the date.
To my horror, I see that not only the date says September 11 but that the clock reads exactly 09:11 am.

Champagne

At 12.05, bored, I spin my chair slightly to the right and stare through the window of the large meeting-room.

Inside are three people, 2 who I know from the last time I worked here and one who I’ve not officially met but who I’d come across in the kitchen earlier this morning talking to a guy from IT that was leaning up against the notice board with a cup of tea in his hand.

‘I’m lucky I’m here at all,’ I’d overheard her say to him, ‘I’d already had a bottle of champagne when the cops pulled me over.’

Alison

Today I’m on 9-6 so I get to see Alison, who’s still working nights.

After we’ve hugged and gotten our catching-up out of the way she asks how I’m finding being back.

‘Dull,’ I say, ‘but at least the people are nice,’

‘All except one,’ says Alison, ‘who I despise for calling me a big-titted slut,’

‘What?’ I say my jaw dropping.

‘Yes,’ she says and then names of one of our male colleagues.

‘Well, you have got big tits,’ I say looking down Alison’s cleavage as she leans forward to turn her computer on, ‘but you’re hardly a slut,’

Cheap Shit

A woman calls up to tell me about a wooden tray and a clutch-purse she's received from the over-priced bags and tatty-shit Catalogue Company.

'It's been a series of disasters,' she says, sucking on her cigarette. 
'Oh dear,' I say each time she lists another of the screw-ups with her order. 
'And to tell the honest