Chronicles of Employment: HSN, v.2

Sep 29, 2003 01:13

The ice-specked winter wind howls menacingly at our backs, falling on our forces like the barbed whips of a vicious master on the shattered spines of his helpless slaves. Months ago (how it seems years!), we marched proudly into Moscow with liberty and equality on our lips - now we crawl ingnominously away with the nauseating taste of horse flesh lingering in our cracked, frostbitten mouths. Thoughts of Napoleon's indominable genious and the undying glory of Mother France no longer occupy my mind - of greater import are the fetid, blackened lumps of rotting meat still clinging somehow to the ends of my legs. I've long since worn through my boots, though that seems to matter little now that I can't feel my feet. I stumble face first into the snow, my face chilled to a searing burn by the frozen wastes now surrounding it. My fellow troops, my brethren by trial and oath, march on. As everything swirling before my eyes begins to match the interminable black of my feet, I go num and console myself that at least I shall have to march no further...

[BEEP BEEP in my ear, and with a shout and a shiver I'm back]

"Thank you for calling the Home Shopping Network, my name is Eldys. May I have your first item number, please?"
(heavy breathing, gasping for air) "Yeah, sure. It's 612-658."
"The Tummy Tuckers for $14.95, ma'am?"
"That's it, yeah. Have you got it in quadruple extra large?"
"I'm afraid that the largest size the Tummy Tucker comes in is large, ma'am."
"What size does that fit up to?"
"Eighteen."
"Ooof. That's gonna be really tight. I guess I'll take it anyway. Give me one of the larges then."
"I'm afraid the large is sold out, ma'am."
"Damn! Then I'm gonna have to take the Medium."
"I'm afraid the medium is sold out as well, ma'am."
"Jesus Christ! What have you got left?"
"Just an extra-small, ma'am."
"Oh well. I'll take that."
"I'd rather not sell you the extra-small, ma'am."
"What?"
"I said I'd rather not sell you that, ma'am."
(huffing) "I heard you the first time - why the hell not?"
"Because, ma'am, I'm assuming that you're a woman of considerable girth - if you try to squeeze yourself into an extra-small Tummy Tucker, you're bound to rupture a kidney. I have your best health interests in mind."
(pause, heavy breathing) "Well shit, I appreciate the concern, boy, but my son's gonna get married in a month and I've gotta find some way to tuck in my gut."
"Might I suggest, ma'am, that you buy two of the extra-small Tummy Tuckers and latch them together with a bungee cord?"
(excited, panting) "You're a goddamn genius, Elvis! That's exactly what I'm gonna do!"
"On second thought, you had better make that three of them, ma'am."
(extremely labored breathing) "Three it is! All hail the King!"

The call proceeds smoothly for another two minutes as my hefty customer completes her order and hangs up. It's been a thankfully slow day, and I've had plenty of time to daydream and doodle. I'm absent mindedly scrawling out a skull on a sheet of customer service tips when the co-worker sitting immediately to my left interrupts my peace. He points excitedly at the skull and starts babbling.

"Bro, you're an artist? Shit, me too!"
"I'm not really an artist. I was just doodling."
"How long have you been drawing, dawg?"
"Well, since I was a kid, I guess..."
"I started a year and a half ago, bro."
(surprised) "A year and a half ago?"
"Yeah dawg. My art teacher said I wasn't neva gonna be nothin'. She said I ain't had no talent. But I'll show her. I'm gonna be a famous artist some day, and when I'm bankin' on that shit I'm gonna drive up to that school in my Bentley and be like, 'how you like me now, Miss Lopez?' Then I'll throw some bills in her face."
"I guess that's a good attitude to have, if you want to be successful. As a teacher she should really have been more supportive..."
(angrily) "And then I'm gonna kick the shit outta her stank ass!"
"Well, that might be a bit excessive, actually..."
(more angrily) "And then I'll stab that nasty bitch, and make her eat my shit! I'm gonna grab a big ol' motha' fuckin' fistfull of my own shit and shove it down her goddamned throat!"
(alarmed) Hey, calm down man...
(perfectly composed) You wanna see some of my art?
(lying) Well, yeah. Why not?

He opens up a sketchbook to reveal a crude, shaky drawing of a miscolored Rasta smoking a joint. I quickly decide that it is the worst drawing I have ever seen. A developmentally challenged baboon with a nervous disorder could have drawn a better picture.

"You like it, bro?"
"I love it."
"I'm good, right?"
"Good isn't the word. You're unbelieveable."
"That's what I'm talkin' about! I'm gonna be rich, yo! (he looks around, then in a lowered voice continues) Hey, check this out, dawg..."

He flips to the middle of the sketchbook and shows me a horrible, disproportionate drawing of a woman in the nude fondling her nether bits. I change my mind about the earlier picture, and decide that this is the worst drawing I have ever seen.

"What do you think, dawg?"
(pause) "It's got strong composition. I like your use of form and color."
"No dawg - what do you think of her?"
(confused) "I... Think she's very nice."
"She's fine, right?"
"Um... Yeah. She's fine."
"She's my girlfriend."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I fuck her."

[BEEP BEEP in my ear and with a wipe of the brow and a whirl of relief I'm back]

"Thank you for calling the Home Shopping Network, my name is Eldys. May I have your first item number, please?"
(a shaky old voice scratches out of my headset) "I have a complaint."
"Sure thing ma'am. What would you like to complain about?"
"I ordered the vaccuum robot a couple of months ago..."
"Ah yes, the Roomba Automatic Floor Sweeper. A fascinating example of how complicated space-age technology can simplify domestic life..."
"Yeah, that's the robot. It's stuck under my bed!"
"Stuck under your bed, ma'am?"
"You heard me, you little fucker! It's stuck under my bed and it won't come out!"
"Have you tried reaching under the bed to get it, ma'am?"
"Don't you think I've thought of that, you stupid asshole? I'm an invalid! I can't reach under my bed!"
"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. Would you like to be transferred to customer service?"
"Oh no you don't, you little prick - nobody ever answers the phone at customer service and you know it! I want you to take care of this problem. Now!"
"Okay, how would you like for me to help you, ma'am?"
"I want you to reach under my bed and get this goddamned robot out for me!"
"Again, ma'am, that's really a customer service issue..."
"No! You take care of it yourself, you weasel! Now!"
"Judging from your file, ma'am, you live in Montana. I am in Miami, Florida."
"I don't give a hot shit!"
"But ma'am, I can't..."
"Yes you can! You come get it!"
"But ma'am..."
"You come over here and get this goddamned robot out from under my bed!"
(sigh) "Okay ma'am. I'll be there in half an hour."
"Fine!"

Much to my relief, she hangs up the phone. I continue doodling. The co-worker sitting immediately to my right notices, points at it excitedly, and gleefully annoys me in his islander accent.

"You're an artist!"
"That's right. I'm an artist."
"But I'm an artist too!"
"You don't say?"
"Look at this!"

He shoves an oily pencil sketch into my hands. The picture is of either a rabbit or a pony (or maybe a hippo), with something like a pirate floating above it. I quickly decide that this is the worst drawing I have ever seen.

"What do you think, mon?"
"I believe this is the best drawing I have ever seen."
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