The Buddha and the Call Centre

My induction ‘buddy’ was called Natasha and it was Natasha who introduced me to The Buddha. Natasha was studying drama at the university and told me she was working at the Real People Customer First Centre until she graduated in a month’s time. She had a rich voice which cracked huskily. Mine can do that if I have a heavy cold. It is a benefit of being prone to illnesses just now.

Why had I started working here? I suppose mostly because I need a job, I told her, plus the office is walking distance from my over-mortgaged flat. I didn’t tell her about my flat being over-mortgaged. And obviously I didn’t tell her about Flash. But I thought about him. I’m always thinking about all of that. Natasha had long, dark hair. Mine is dark too, for a good three inches at the roots.

During a designated break time she introduced me to all of the other Real People. Well, each of us was a Real Person but collectively we were the Real People. She smiled and slapped at some of the more attractive male Real People and ran her fingers inside her hair as if playing a harp. Then she told me she’d introduce me to The Buddha. Who, I asked. You’ll see it, she said and I followed her.

The Buddha was not Indian but he was completely bald and his face and body were round. He looked up from playing Patience on his computer and said hello, hen. His accent was as Glaswegian as mine. I was startled. Not by his accent but his smell. As we left his station and the odour faded I finally recognised it as that of plump roses and hot pavements when they are suddenly struck by rain.

What’s his real name, I asked Natasha. Natasha shrugged. I really don’t know. The induction was over and I sat down at my hot desk, coiling the hands-free microphone around my head, ear and chin. I centred my script between my elbows, on the desk, and studied it. Hello, Welcome to the Real People Customer First Centre. You’re speaking to a Real Person. How can I help you today?

When I could, I took a hot desk near The Buddha. He fascinated me. It wasn’t just his nickname. It was his email. I got added to the email on my tenth shift. But I could tell from scrolling down the long list of replies to all and forwards that it had been running for a fortnight already amongst all of the Real People. It was titled, Where’s The Effing Telly? I suppose there had been concern that using the actual swear word would alert Management or IT. The first email explained that there had been a television in the Real People Break-Out Area and now suddenly it was gone with no explanation. What’s next, someone messaged, the water cooler? The toilets?

During designated break times the emails increased. Eventually a message dropped from realperson125. I opened it and read: Life is suffering. It had been sent as a reply to all. Seconds later more emails appeared. Life is suffering? What the eff? Eff you, 125.

I knew The Buddha must be realperson125 because I watched the others glower in his direction. The Buddha was unperturbed. He continued with his calls in his clear voice.

I noticed that The Buddha never lost his temper with a customer or threw himself about at his station after finishing a call. In fact, when I listened to The Buddha on his calls he barely spoke at all. He would listen, his face soft. But he did work. He didn’t take surreptitious breaks. The only time I saw him leave his station outside of a designated break or home time was when the screaming started further down the office.

Oh, it’s e-nor-mous, they shrieked. Oh, someone catch it. Whatever it was it was racing around the office. I could follow its path by the pattern of people swinging their feet up off the floor or leaping onto their chairs and desks.

Finally The Buddha stood up. He sat on the floor with his hands cupped out in front of him on the carpet. I watched the tiny, brown mouse scurry towards him.

Oh, how horrible, someone shrieked. The Buddha carefully stood up but without using his hands which were closed gently across one another. There was no window in the room but he went to the fire door, which was left propped open by the smokers, and released the mouse.

That was the first time I had noticed The Buddha’s feet. They were so small, inside his trainers. And I can’t really explain this very well but as I looked at his feet I was suddenly filled with such a strong feeling which, if you forced me to describe it, I would have to call it love.