“Just a Day” by Feeder blasts in the background… “I’ve got to rise above the emotional flood. I’ve got to cut these ropes around my hands. Pull myself around…”
Today’s been pretty sweet to me considering the fact it’s been a working day. I had managed to feign illness to take the day off yesterday and today I go into work to be assigned a workload sufficient to keep a 3 year old occupied for half a day at Playschool. As I stumble into work at a little after noon, I’m greeted by my 3 team members who enquire about my health.
“I’m better, thank you,” I reply, after clearing my throat. Don’t get me wrong, I feel that it was right of me to have taken the day off. Two Saturdays in a row in a bar/club environment cannot be good for the vocal chords. After the first Saturday my throat was overcome with a soreness that lasted till Wednesday. After the second Saturday my throat was fried and my voice had packed its bags for a 2 day vacation. A large part of my working day would involve making telephone calls, so it’s understandable, surely. Sometimes when you wake up in the morning and feel you cannot face a full working day with just 3 hours sleep to your name, the devil on your shoulder starts to make sense.
Although my job can change on a weekly basis, at the moment it’s to call businesses in the name of market research. I have a desk. I am not monitored. No one can tell if I am doing work. No one can tell if I am not doing work. No one knows I’m in Heaven.
The system is simple. Hit your targets for the day and you’ll get a pat on the back and a recommendation for a prize voucher and certificate at the next company meeting. The targets are realistic. Too realistic, even if you’re of average calibre. They may as well have given me a colouring book when I walked in and told me they expect no colour outside the lines come 5:30 pm. The data I’ve been given to work with is like a layered reused canvas; a well battered and abused database. Some of the clients on my list know very well why we’re calling so they’re naturally at another meeting or taking an extended lunch break. These are the ones with well-trained secretaries and personal assistants. The rest of them, I have to call and be put through to their voicemail. I’ve spoken to every contact on my database that has made him/herself available. By 2 pm I’m certain I am going to get no more blood out of this stone.
“This database has dried up. Death Valley is looking pretty damp next to this beast,” I inform my boss.
“I’ve just added new records to this database. Just do your best,” was his standard textbook answer.
See that last sentence there? That’s code for “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Just please keep us both out of trouble and use your acting skills to make it appear as though you’re working. Hard.” Trust me, I know my boss by now. We have an understanding. After several bouts of web browsing and catching up on the gossip, 4 pm arrives.
“The contacts are not there. Voicemail galore,” I proclaim to my boss.
“OK, then just work on the companies in the USA. Don’t bother with the European ones anymore.”
There are only 30 in the database. If they don’t pick up the phone, that’s an average of 1 minute per phonecall. 30 x 1 = 30 minutes. After getting that out of the way, I get on with not doing my work for an hour.
My team mate (and sometimes team-leader — we all take turns team-leading) tells me a story about why one of the guys in our office doesn’t have a mobile phone anymore. Speaking in first person, in a Nigerian accent, “One day I was with my girlfriend and my mobile phone rang, so she picked it up. She asked “who is this?” to the person on the other end then says “but I am his girlfriend, how can you be his girlfriend? I am his girlfriend” before storming off. From that day on I do not need a mobile phone.”
5:30 pm arrives and the boss says he’s going go-karting in the afternoon tomorrow, so we can leave officially at 4 pm tomorrow if we want. So there ends a typical working day. As I waltz out through the front door of the building I can only think of two words. Monkeys. Typewriters.
Lesson of the day: Girls who answer the ringing of their boyfriend’s mobile phone could be in for a shock. Don’t do it (i.e. don’t cheat on your partner. It’s OK for them to answer your phone).
