#it's good luck if you get a fucking phone call after an e-consult let alone anything face to face
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edit: vent. tag rant vent.
feel like i'm just gonna go to bed one of these nights and be dead in the morning. i want to know what the fuck is wrong with me
#vent#have a dark bruise on my leg currently. can't remember if I noticed it yesterday or this morning#it's gotten darker through the day#it's scaring me i swear to god health issues and GAD do not fuc king mi x#if it's moved or gotten worse by morning i'm emailing in to college to say i won't be in and just going to the er just#to say find out what the fuck is wrong with me#it doesn't disappear if i press on it is that normal#i will be so fucking surprised if i'm around to see this holiday i don't want to go on in july#i found something i hadn't heard about recently that lines up with pretty much everything bothering me#and if it is the case#then i should just fucking come to terms with it#because if it is the case then it's in my bones already. maybe elsewhere too#i am so fucking tired of this#if my shoulders hurt tomorrow. qhich they will. i'm just gonna say i wanna go to the er#i don't even know if that would get me anywhere but i've been to doctors appointments multiple times i want tests done#how am i meant to say i reckon that's what might be wrong though. i can't just walk down to the doctors and ask to see one#it's good luck if you get a fucking phone call after an e-consult let alone anything face to face#i've been lucky getting those and got another one booked today for ym shoulders#but it's not getting me aywhere. none of them are going anywhere#i'm just having a breakdown right now#At this point I just want closure. confirmation of what's wrong with me.#there is something wrong with me something very wrong with me but I jsut want to put a title on it#put a. timer. on it.
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Never Trust the Online Reviews by DanJosephWrites
They say it's hard to restart your life after prison. I'll tell you it's damn near impossible. I used to be a business analyst cranking out spreadsheets and presentations in a cubicle. Good money, decent hours. Then one night it happened. We were out at a bar and this guy kept talking to my girlfriend. He was being a creep and just wouldn't leave her alone. I told him to fuck off. He spit in my face. I snapped, and cracked him with a beautiful shot halfway up his jaw-line. I turned around to see my friends reactions, and when I looked back the creep was bleeding out on the floor. It was a freak accident - he hit his head on a sharp corner on the way down and that was that.
Eight months and tens of thousands of dollars later I was headed to lock-up for manslaughter. Me, the preppy Finance major from a state school, going off to a medium-security prison. I won't dwell on my time there, just trust me when I say that you never want to be put in a box like that.
I got released early six years later, and it felt like I had been in a time capsule. Everyone else had moved ahead while I was stuck washing prison jumpsuits and eating rubberized food. The girlfriend that I had literally killed for was a fat, married mother of two now. My friends were on track for management positions at consulting firms. My own family shunned me after the damage I had done to our 'good name and reputation.'
So I ended up desperate and almost alone in Jacksonville. I had one contact left from school, Sean, that let me stay in his garage until I could get back on my feet. Well, that was the plan at least. Then his wife searched my name online and found out that I was a murderer. So I ended up desperate and very alone in Jacksonville.
After weeks of hunting for jobs on the public library computers I finally heard back for an opening. Shit hours and minimum wage for a sketchy call-center, but I needed the money. The hiring manager, Bill, sent me some forms to fill out. I swallowed the lump in my throat and checked the Felony box on the first form and added my now-boilerplate explanation of how I killed a guy by accident that one time. I pressed send.
I wasn't optimistic; I had been down this road before. Everything was great until the whole felony thing. Turns out most hiring managers didn't want to call me back after that. I guess I get it; I wouldn't have wanted to share an office with a dirty felon back when my life was happy and perfect.
But Bill e-mailed me right back saying that I was hired. I couldn't believe it, so I point-blank asked him if he had read all of my materials, and he assured me that he had. He said something corny about how he was interesting in the man I was now, not six years ago. I started that next day.
After a marathon bus ride and a hike across the city I made it to the office. In truth it was the dirtiest floor of a nearly-condemned building tucked into a rusting old industrial park. The setting seemed appropriate.
Bill met me at the door. He was a fat guy, balding with yellowed teeth that drew attention away from the busting seams in his shirt. He was the guy who showed up to 40-and-up speed-dating events wearing a cheap suit and borrowed cologne.
"Tim!" he boomed with a harsh voice. His greasy hand clasped mine. "Let me give you the grand tour!"
The carpeted hall opened up to a hive of dated computer screens. Sad, sallow people slumped in front of them, like well-trained zombies in headsets. I figured that's how I'd look in a few days here too.
"This is where the magic happens," Bill said. "We contract with travel websites and resorts primarily. You'll be working on customer service; helping folks with booking and their arrangements while they're guests at the resort. We do some new work with travel review sites too, but you'll learn about that later."
He stopped and leered at me. "Do you believe in the Bible, Tim?"
I didn't know how the hell to answer that, so I didn't. He cackled and thrust a heavy binder into my arms.
"This is your Bible, Timmo. Transfer numbers, scripts for every possible situation...if this thing knew how to talk it would take your job in an instant, mkay?"
I nodded. This couldn't be too hard. Bill led me over to a scrawny, beady-eyed guy in a red and black bowling shirt.
"This is Leon, the shift-lead. He'll be monitoring your calls to make sure you're doing everything by the book."
Leon bared his teeth in what I think was supposed to be a smile. Then Bill took me into his office to sign some paperwork.
"By the way...if for whatever reason a customer calls and says there's an emergency or they want to talk tot he police, you patch the call into my office, okay? The transfer line's on the first page of the Bible."
"Sure."
"Okay. Great, champ. One more thing - since we're adding new clients every day we really need to ensure their privacy and security. So sign this Non-Disclosure Agreement.
I leafed through the many pages. It seemed severely restrictive. Judging from the one pre-law course I took in college this thing wasn't legal and wouldn't hold up in court.
"Uh...and if I don't feel comfortable signing it?"
Bill chuckled. "Ohhh Tim, you young guys are great jokers. You could do that, and then I would fire you." He leaned over the desk and his voice lowered. "Good luck finding another job as a felon when your one work reference tells them what a horrible, insubordinate employee you were."
Jesus Christ. "Alright man, alright. Here." I signed the damn thing.
Bill patted me on the shoulder with a heavy paw. "Faaaantastic! Go to your desk, study the Bible, and Leon will get you up and running on the system. Welcome aboard."
The days flew by. Overtime shifts, hours of mind-numbing calls about a stupid bed being a queen when the customer specifically requested a king, or the balcony being to small, or the room not looking exactly like the pictures online.
I read the shitty scripts, the customers cussed me out, and they hung up. I quickly learned that the joke was on them. Our online reviews stayed at 4.8 stars. It didn't matter what your customers thought if you controlled the rating systems. Leon snickered and told me that the resorts all had 'arrangements' with rating companies to make sure their reputations stayed golden. We copied this practice, and people kept on booking.
Strangely I didn't get to know my co-workers. Bill kept us separated, small-talk was forbidden, and there were no breaks. And of course, nobody stayed around after a twelve-hour shift to shoot the shit.
I remember when I handled my first emergency call. It was from a scared woman on an excursion. Let me explain - basically companies offered day-trips like boat rides or four-wheeling trips in the desert to customers staying at resorts. The woman calling me was on a four-hour catamaran trip off the coast of her resort.
"Help!" she whispered into my headset. "The crew are robbing us. They beat my husband and took him away. Call the police!"
A shiver ran down my spine, and my fingers fumbled for the transfer page.
"Hang on ma'am, I'll connect you to the manager." I patched the call to Bill, flagging it as an emergency. I watched him take it through his window, and hang up a few seconds later. I sat there, wondering what had happened. I couldn't take not knowing. I walked over and knocked on his door.
"What?"
"Uh, that lady. Did you help her?"
Bill looked confused. "Huh?"
"The woman who just called!"
"Ah. She was drunk out of her mind, ignore it."
"Uh..she didn't sound drunk."
"Listen kid, I've worked with that company for years. They're good guys." Then he remembered our roles. "Are you on a break? Get back to your desk!"
I scurried out of there, but that call stuck with me. I was exhausted after my shift but I couldn't sleep. I searched for the problem company online - Eduardo's Excellent Tours and Excursions, and laughed. they had a perfect 5-star rating, of course. I gave up for the night and passed out, waking up to my shrill alarm clock just a few hours later.
The calls were normal for a while after that, but my suspicion grew with each day. Something wasn't sitting right about this whole thing. Finally, on a whim, I went out and bought a phone tap. When it was my day to clean Bill's nasty office - oh yes, we had to clean his office out every day as part of our job - I brought the tap with me. My hands shook as I struggled to hook it up to his phone. I was finishing the job when Leon barged in. My breath caught in my throat.
He leered at me, then said "your shift starts in five minutes."
"Oh, right. Be right there." I finished up and left, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I waited a few days to make sure Leon didn't suspect anything and Bill didn't notice the tap. After four days I figured it was safe, so I linked it to my headset. I got a chance to test it a week later. A man called me, frantically babbling.
"Help you need to call the police! Th-the catamaran excursion, Eduardo's excursion. They took my wife!"
"Slow down sir. What do you mean?"
"They said she was too drunk and needed medical care below-deck. But we both swore off drinking years ago. They're lying and I don't know what they're doing down there!"
"Okay hang on sir." I transferred the call to Bill and waited, holding my breath until it hurt.
A moment later their conversation entered my ear. The tap was working, thank god. The man repeated his story, and Bill told him the local police would be dispatched immediately. Then he hung up and took a smoke break. I watched him leave, no-one called the police.
I felt sick. I had confirmed it, this company was enabling god knows what to happen to innocent tourists. I...was getting paid minimum-wage to lie and cover up the tracks. But I thought back to my first conversation with Bill and knew he was right. He'd fuck me over and leave me unemployed and homeless. I decided that all I could for now was to collect more information and find out what was going on.
I had been dragging ass at work before then. Obviously, no-one was terribly motivated in that environment. But now I had a purpose. I doubled my customer engagement speed so that I could get back to spying on Bill more often.
Listening in was like torture. Most of his calls during the work day were to phone-sex lines, and this dude was into some far-out shit. Finally one Friday I struck gold. I caught him on a call to the owner of Eduardo's.
"Look shithead, we got a problem. Cut out this sexual shit. Stick to the original plan - rough 'em up a bit and rob 'em, and go on your way."
"My friend, it was a mistake. One guy got drunk and tried to go too far. We stopped him and...made sure he wouldn't do it again."
"I don't want to know, just don't let it happen again. And up my cut 10%, I'm catching a lot of shit for you up here."
"Fuck off. Best I can do is 4."
"Fine, fine. Look, I gotta run. We'll talk later."
Eduardo hung up. Before I could do the same, I heard something else.
"Tim, my office." It was Bill. On his phone. I gasped and looked up to see Bill staring right through me. My heart raced as I took off the headset and staggered towards his office. He sat me down and glared silently for a minute.
"You think a guy in my kind of business is stupid? You think I'd talk that openly about that shit if I didn't pay attention to exactly who was listening in?"
I shook my head.
"Good, college boy. Now you're using that big brain of yours." He sat on the edge of his task, looming over me. "I can tell you're going to be a problem, so here's a proposition. Keep working here and doing the right thing, and I'll give you a 2% kick-back every time we contract a successful robbery or...other item. Look, you eavesdropped. We don't tolerate sexual harassment. Just robbery, no lasting damage. Well...some of our newer companies like murder but they're a lot rarer, and you have to deal with the black market for organs and it's complicated. Anyways, that's the smart play."
He leaned further, his belly resting uncomfortably on my knee.
"Then there's the alternative. I plan hard drugs in your locker and you go back to jail."
I stared dumbly at him.
"Oh yes. Who do you think they'd believe? A disgraced former murderer, or old Bill - the pillar of the community giving a second chance to criminals?
I shuddered at the thought but we both knew I was still trapped.
"Atta boy. Back to work, then. Keep an eye on your paychecks and you'll see the extra money when good things happen."
As I shuffled numbly back to my desk the phone rang.
"Hello, how may I help you sir or ma'am?"
"Hi. Um, I booked a king bed but the resort says they have my name for a a twin?"
"No problem ma'am. Let me send an update over and you should be all set." I tapped some keys and submitted the form. "Okay, that should be resolved. Anything else?"
"No. Well, actually while I have on you the phone - my husband and I are torn between excursions. How's Eduardos? They have great reviews online."
My stomach felt queasy as I sensed Bill's leering eyes on me. My voice was wooden. "Ed's is great, 5-stars for a reason. Enjoy your trip."
"Thanks for your help!"
I hung up.
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