God's Own Electric Circus

Since University my only creative writing has been committed to screen between taking client calls at Invesco. Now that my time there has passed, I thought it worthwhile, for posterity, to share a select piece of my 'business writing' that had been sent out around the office for the edutainment of my colleagues. 

I don't feel the need to annotate this, or explain away any of the jargon, it would seem most have already had a brush with the call centre, its an east coast thing...

Based on Actual Events

1st Call of the Day

 I just received one of those auto dialer calls that says, “press star to accept the incoming call” then proceeds in a robot voice to spew out a bunch of numbers. I was afterwards connected to a distant voice on a crackling distorted line. 

 The voice was distinctly Arabic and was likely speaking Farsi. On the other end someone was prattling on in a spew of guttural plosives and fricative consonants, seemingly ignorant of my opening. The only English words that I was able to perceive, however indistinctly, were formed into the following sentence, “the American… two million… he dies…”

 At that point I became increasingly anxious but still attempted, albeit somewhat half-heartedly, to build rapport: “So how is the weather in Iran?” Perhaps it was the obvious nervousness in my voice, or the imperious nature of my caller, but I received no response to my friendly overture. Then with curiosity quickly replacing my anxiety, I became emboldened and asked a clarifying security question: “Are you the rep on file?” Again I was met with no response, only the crackly popping from the line and what sounded like feverish breathing on the distant receiver. 

 “Sir?” I continued, “Are you looking to set up a wire transfer? Because if that is the case we have a wire transfer queue I can put you in contact with.” The distant breathing halted, filled in by a sudden eruption of static on the line, then a thin sinewy voice impinged on my right ear drum. “Do that… or he dies,” was distinctly enunciated in a forced English accent. My heart jumped at that moment, not so much at the malicious statement as at the tone and intensity with which it had been uttered. “Okay,” I stammered, “And if you get the voicemail would you like to leave a message.” There was no reply, so I continued, “was there anything else I could help you with today?” There was the sound of a throat being cleared and I waited in anticipation, but again the line was filled only with the hallow popping of static. “Thank you for calling Invesco Trimark,” I managed as I punched in the proper extension number and cold transferred the call with a shudder. 

 Now, a full 45 minutes later, I still sit in after-call filled with anxiety and worry. My hands are trembling as I raise my coffee cup to my mouth, taking little notice of the burning sensation on my tongue as I clumsily fill my mouth. My head is swirling with the potential repercussions that this call might have. I can’t even remember if I properly addressed the terrorists once, let alone said his name three times… Should I have value added, no, it was a directory assistance call. Should I have at least gotten the account number? Was I wrong to have cold transferred? I really hope my call audits don’t suffer.

 Man I think its just going to be one of those days… I need a break.