One Night at the Call Center Page 3

  Qualis stuck in traffic

  Will b there soon

  “Who's that?” Esha asked me.

  “Nobody important,” I said.

  “Shefali?” Radhika said.

  “No,” I said and everybody looked at me.

  “No,” I said again.

  “Yes, it is. It's Shefali, isn't it?” Esha and Radhika said together and laughed.

  “Why does Shefali always babytalk?” I heard Esha whisper to Radhika. More titters followed.

  “Whatever,” I said and looked at my watch. The Qualis was still on the NH8 road, at the entrance to the concrete Delhi suburb of Gurgaon. We were ten minutes away from Connections.

  Cool, I'll meet Shefali by 10:10,1 thought.

  “Can we stop for a quick tea at Inderjeet? We'll still make it by 10:30,” Priyanka said. Inderjeet dhaba on NH8 was famous among truck drivers for its all-night tea and snacks.

  “Won't we be late?” Radhika crinkled her forehead.

  “Of course not. Driver ji saved us twenty minutes in the last stretch. Come, Driver ji, my treat,” Priyanka said.

  “Good idea. It will keep me awake,” Esha said.

  The driver slowed the Qualis near Inderjeet dhaba and parked it near the counter.

  “Hey guys, do we have to stop? We're going to be late,” I protested against the chai chorus.

  “We won't be late. Let's treat Driver ji for getting us here so fast,” Priyanka said and got out of the Qualis. She just has to do things I don't want to do.

  “He wants to be with Shefali, dude,” Esha elbowed Radhika. They guffawed again. What's so damn funny, I wanted to ask.

  “No, I just like to reach my shift a few minutes early,” I said and got out of the Qualis. Military Uncle and the driver followed us.

  Inderjeet dhaba had angithis next to each table. I smelled hot paranthas, but did not order as it was so late. The driver arranged plastic chairs for us. Inderjeet's minions collected tea orders as per the various complicated rules laid down by the girls.

  “No sugar in mine,” Esha said.

  “Extra hot for me,” Radhika said.

  “With cardamom for me,” Priyanka said.

  When we were in college together, Priyanka used to make cardamom tea for me in her hostel room. Her taste in men might have changed, but obviously not her taste in beverages.

  The tea arrived in three minutes.

  “So what's the gossip?” Priyanka said as she cupped her hands around the glass for warmth. Apart from cardamom, Priyanka's favorite spice is gossip.

  “No gossip. You tell us what's happening in your life,” Radhika said.

  “I actually do have something to tell,” Priyanka said with a sly smile.

  “What?” Radhika and Esha exclaimed together.

  “I'll tell you when we get to the bay. It's big,” Priyanka said.

  “Tell us now,” Esha said, poking Priyanka's shoulder.

  “There's no time. Someone is in a desperate hurry,” Priyanka said, glancing meaningfully at me.

  I turned away.

  “OK, I have something to share too. But don't tell anyone,” Esha said.

  “What?” Radhika said.

  “See,” Esha said and stood up. She raised her top to expose a flat midriff, on which there was a newborn ring.

  “Cool, check it out,” Priyanka said, “someone's turning hip.”

  Military Uncle stared as if in a state of shock. I suspect he was never young and was just born a straight forty-year-old.

  “What's that? A navel ring?” Radhika asked.

  Esha nodded and covered herself again.

  “Did it hurt?” Radhika said.

  “Oh yes,” Esha said. “Imagine someone stapling your tummy hard.”

  Esha's statement churned my stomach.

  “Shall we go?” I said, gulping down my tea.

  “Let's go, girls, or Mr. Conscientious will get upset.” Priyanka suppressed a smirk. I hated her.

  I went to the counter to pay the bill. Vroom was watching TV.

  “Vroom?” I said.

  “Hi. What are you guys doing here?” he said.

  I told him about the girls' tea idea.

  “I arrived twenty minutes ago, man,” Vroom said. He extinguished his cigarette and showed me the butt. “This was my first.”

  Vroom was trying to cut down to four cigarettes a night. However, with Bakshi in our life, it was impossible.

  “Can you rush me to the call center? Shefali will be leaving soon,” I said.

  Vroom's eyes were transfixed by the TV set on Inderjeet dhaba's counter. The New Delhi news channel was on and Vroom is a sucker for it. He worked on a newspaper once and is generally into social and global issues and all that stuff. He thinks that just by watching the news, you can change the world. That, by the way, is his trip.

  “Let's go, man. Shefali will kill me.”

  “Shefali. Oh, you mean Curly Wurly,” Vroom laughed.

  “Shut up, man. She has to catch the Qualis after her shift. This is the only time I get with her.”

  “Once you had Priyanka, and now you sink to Shefali levels,” Vroom said, and bent his elbow to rest his 6' 2” frame on the dhaba counter.

  “What's wrong with Shefali?” I said, shuffling from one foot to the other.

  “Nothing. It's just that it's nice to have a girlfriend with half a brain. Why are you wasting your time with her?”

  “I'm weaning myself off Priyanka. I'm trying to move on,” I said and took a sweet from the candy jar at the counter.

  “What happened to the re-proposal plan with Priyanka?” Vroom said.

  “I've told you, not until I become team leader. Which should be soon—maybe tonight after we submit the website manual. Now can we please go?” I said.

  “Yeah, right. Some hopes you live on,” Vroom said, but moved away from the counter.

  I held on tight as Vroom zipped through NH8 at 120 km an hour. I closed my eyes and prayed Shefali wouldn't be angry, and that I would get there alive.

  Beep Beep. Beep Beep. My mobile went off again.

  Curly Wurly is sad

  Eddy teddy is very bad

  I leave in 10 min : (

  I jumped off the bike as Vroom reached the call center. The bike jerked forward and Vroom had to use both his legs to balance.

  “Easy, man,” Vroom said in an irritated voice. “Can you just let me park?”

  “Sorry. I'm really late,” I said and ran inside.

  Chapter 3

  10:18 p.m.

  I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU, ”Shefali said and started playing with one of her silver earrings. The ring-shaped earrings were so large they were almost bangles.

  “Sorry, Shefali. My bay people held me up.” I stood next to her, leaning against her desk. She sat on her swivel chair and rotated it ninety degrees away from me to showcase her sulking. The dozens of workstations in her bay were empty as all the other agents had left.

  “Whatever. I thought you were their team leader,” she said and pretended to work on her computer.

  “I am not the team leader. I will be soon, but I'm not one yet,” I said.

  “Why don't they make you team leader?” she turned to me and fluttered her eyeslashes. I hated this habit of hers.

  “I don't know. Bakshi said he's trying, but I have to bring my leadership skills up to speed.”

  “What is ‘up to speed’?” she said and opened her handbag.

  “I don't know. Improve my skills, I guess.”

  “So you guys don't have a team leader.”

  “No. Bakshi says we have to manage without one. I help with supervisory stuff for now. But Bakshi told me I have strong future potential.”

  “So why doesn't your team listen to you?”

  “Who says they don't? Of course they do.”

  “So why were you late?” she said, beginning her sentence with a “so” for the third time.

  “Shefali, come on, drop that,” I said, looking at my watch. “H
ow did your shift go?”

  “It was OK. The team leader said call volumes have dropped for Western Computers. All customers are using the troubleshooting website now.”

  “Cool. You do know who made that, don't you?”

  “Yes, you and Vroom. But I don't think you should make a big deal out of it. The website has cost Connections a lot of business.”

  “But the website helps the customers, right?” I said.

  “Shh. Don't talk about the website here. Some agents are very upset. Someone said they would cut people's jobs.”

  “Really?”

  “I don't know. Listen, why are you so unromantic? Is this how Eddy Teddy should talk to his Curly Wurly?”

  I wanted to know more about what was going on at Connections. Bakshi was super-secretive—all he said was that there were some confidential management priorities. I thought of asking Vroom to spy.

  “Eddy Teddy?” Shefali repeated. I looked at her. If she stopped wearing Hello Kitty hairpins, she could be passably cute.

  “Huh?”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you like my gift?”

  “What gift?”

  “The ring tones. I gave you six ring tones. See, you don't even remember.”

  “I do. See, I put ‘Last Christmas’ as my tone,” I said and picked up my phone to play it. Vroom would probably have killed me if he'd heard it, but I had to for Shefali.

  “So cute,” Shefali said and pinched my cheeks. “So cute it sounds, my Eddy Teddy.”

  “Shefali…”

  “What?”

  “Can you stop calling me that?”

  “Why? Don't you like it?”

  “Just call me Shyam.”

  “Don't you like the name I gave you?” she said, her voice transcending from sad to tragic.

  I kept quiet. You never tell women you don't like something they have done. However, they pick up on the silence.

  “That means you don't like the ring tones either,” she said and her voice started to break.

  “I do,” I said, fearing a round of crying. “I love the ring tones.”

  “And what about the name? You can choose another name if you want. I'm not like your other girlfriends,” she said and tiny tears appeared in her eyes. I looked at my watch. Three more minutes and time would heal everything, I thought. I took a deep breath. A hundred and eighty seconds and she would definitely have to leave. Sometimes counting seconds was a great way to kill time through a woman's tantrums.

  “What kind of girlfriends?” I said.

  “Like,” she sniffled, “bossy girls who impose their way on you. Like you-know-who.”

  “Who? What are you implying,” I said, my voice getting firmer. It was true; Priyanka could be bossy, but only if you didn't listen to her.

  “Forget it. But will you give me a name if I stop crying?” Her sobs were at serious risk of transforming into a full-fledged bawl.

  “Yes,” I said. I'd rename the rest of her family if she stopped this drama.

  “OK,” she said and became normal. “Give me a name.”

  I thought hard. Nothing came to mind.

  “Sheffy? How about Sheffy?” I said finally.

  “Nooo. I want something cuuuter,” she said. Shefali loves to drag out words.

  “I can't think of anything cute right now. I have to work. Isn't your Qualis leaving soon, too?” I said.

  She looked at her watch and stood up.

  “Yes, I'd better leave now. Will you think of a name by tomorrow?” she said.

  “I will, bye now.”

  “Give me a kissie,” she said and tapped a finger on her cheek.

  “What?”

  “Kissie.”

  “You mean a kiss? Yeah sure.” I gave her a peck on the cheek and turned around to return to my bay.

  “Bye bye, Eddy Teddy,” her voice followed me.

  Chapter 4

  10:27 p.m.

  THE OTHERS WERE ALREADY AT THE DESK when I got back from Shefali's bay.

  Our bay's name is the Western Appliances Strategic Group or WASG. Unlike the other bay that troubleshoots for computer customers, we deal with customers of home appliances such as refrigerators, ovens, and vacuum cleaners. Management calls us the strategic bay because we specialize in troublesome and painful customers. These “strategic” customers call a lot and are too stupid to figure things out—actually the latter applies to a lot of callers.

  We feel special, as we aren't part of the main computers bay. The main bay has over a thousand agents and handles the huge Western Computers account. While the calls are less weird there, they miss the privacy we enjoy in the WASG.

  I took my seat at the long rectangular table. We have a fixed seating arrangement: I sit next to Vroom, while Priyanka is opposite me; Esha is adjacent to Priyanka and Radhika sits next to Esha. The bay is open plan so we can all see each other and Military Uncle's chat station is at the corner of the room. At each of the other three corners there are, respectively, the restrooms, a conference room, and a stationery supplies room.

  However, no one apart from Uncle was at their seat when I sat down. Everyone had gathered around Priyanka.

  “What's the news? Tell us now,” Esha was saying.

  “OK, OK. But on one condition. It doesn't leave the WASG,” Priyanka said, sitting down. She pulled out a large plastic bag from under her seat.

  “Guys,” I said, interrupting their banter.

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  I pointed at the desk and the unmanned phones. I looked at my watch. It was 10:29 p.m. The call system routine backup was about to finish and our calls would begin in one minute.

  Everyone returned to their chairs and put on their headsets.

  “Good evening, everyone. Please pay attention to this announcement,” a loud voice filled our bay. I looked up. The voice came from the fire-drill speaker.

  “I hate these irritating announcements,” Priyanka said.

  “This is the control room,” the speaker continued. “This is to inform all agents of a fire drill next Friday at midnight. Please follow instructions during the fire drill to leave the call center safely. Thank you. Have a nice shift.”

  “Why do they keep doing this? Nobody is going to burn this place down,” Esha said.

  “Government rules,” Vroom said.

  Conversation stopped midway as two beeps on the computer screens signaled the start of our shift.

  Calls began at 10:31 p.m. Numbers started flashing on our common switchboard as we picked up calls one after the other.

  “Good afternoon, Western Appliances, Victor speaking, how may I help you?” Vroom said.

  “Yes, according to my records I am speaking to Ms. Smith, and you have the WAF200 dishwasher. Is that right?” Esha said.

  Esha's memory impressed the caller. It was not a big deal, given that our automated system showed every caller's records. We knew their name, address, credit card details, and past purchases from Western Appliances. We also had details on when they'd last called us. In fact, the reason why her call had come to our desk—the Western Appliances Strategic desk—was because she was a persistent caller. This way the main bay could continue to run smoothly.

  Sometimes we had customers that were oddballs even by WASG standards. I won't go into all of them, but Vroom's 10:37 p.m. call went something like this:

  “Yes, Ms. Paulson, of course we remember you. Happy Thanksgiving, I hope you're roasting a big turkey in our WA100 model oven,” Vroom said, reading from a script that reminded us about the American festival of the day.

  I couldn't hear the customer's side of the conversation, but Ms. Paulson was obviously explaining her problem with the oven.

  “No, Ms. Paulson, you shouldn't have unscrewed the cover,” Vroom said, as politely as possible.

  “No, really, madam. An electrical appliance like the WA100 should only be serviced by trained professionals,” Vroom said, reading v
erbatim from the WA100 service manual.

  Ms. Paulson spoke for another minute. Our strategic bay hardly had a reputation for efficiency, but long calls like these could screw up Vroom's response times.

  “You see madam, you need to explain to me why you opened the top cover. Then perhaps we'll understand why you got an electric shock … so tell me … yes … oh … really?” Vroom continued, taking deep breaths. Patience—the key to becoming a star agent—did not come naturally to him.

  Radhika was helping someone defrost her fridge; Esha was assisting a customer in unpacking a dishwasher. Everyone was speaking with an American accent and sounded different from the way they normally spoke. I took a break from the calls to compile the call statistics of the previous day. I didn't particularly like doing this, but Bakshi had left me little choice.

  “You see, madam,” Vroom was still with Ms. Paulson, “I understand your turkey didn't fit and you didn't want to cut it, but you should not have opened up the equipment … But you see that's not the equipment's fault… I can't really tell you what to do … I understand your son is coming, madam … Now if you had the WA150, that's a bigger size,” Vroom said, beginning to breathe faster.

  Ms. Paulson ranted on for a while longer.

  “Ms. Paulson, I suggest you take the oven to your dealer as soon as possible,” Vroom said firmly. “And next time, get a smaller turkey … and yes, a readymade turkey would be a good idea for tonight … No, I don't have a dial-a-turkey number. Thank you for calling, Ms. Paulson, bye.” Vroom ended the call.

  He banged his fist on the table.

  “Everything OK?” I said, not looking up from my papers.

  “Yeah. Just a psycho customer,” he mumbled as another number started flashing on his screen.

  I worked on my computer for the next ten minutes, compiling the call statistics of the previous day. Bakshi had also assigned me the responsibility of checking the other agents' etiquette. Every now and then I would listen in on somebody's call. At 10:47 p.m. I connected to Esha's line.

  “Yes, sir. I sound like your daughter? Oh, thank you. So what is wrong with the vacuum cleaner?” she was saying.

  “Your voice is so soothing,” the caller said.

  “Thank you, sir. So, the vacuum cleaner … ?”