On the Job

On the Job By J.M. Snyder “Base to twenty-three.” Judy’s voice crackles over the radio. I have it turned down low but she’s still a little too loud—I think she yells into the radio on purpose. Usually she gets pissed at a customer and takes it out on us. By the tone of her voice now, I know I’m in for a real treat. I reach over and turn the radio up. “Go ahead.” I’m a service tech for the cable company, which means trouble calls and cut drops and little old ladies who can’t figure out how to program their TVs, but sometimes I get a reconnect/leave tag or an emergency mark lines, depending on what needs to be done. It’s after noon already and I have only one more order left for the day, a PM job where the customer wants me after 3:30, so I know Judy has something that’s come up. I can take another few jobs until I have to head out to Walnut Street. When she doesn’t reply right away, I repeat myself. “Twenty-three here. Go ahead, Base.” “Charles,” she comes back, a burst of static accompanying my name, “I have a new install I need you to pick up. Can you copy?” Damn. I’m not an installer, and I already know I don’t have half the tools needed to complete the job. “Um, Base,” I say, frowning at the road as I drive, “I don’t have any converters on my truck. Is this a basic only install?” “Negative. But it’s per Bob. He says you can do it. Just tell the customer to pick up a box at the office.” Per Bob. That means the customer has been a real ass and somehow managed to talk to the supervisor, bitching about something or other, and I’m in for it when I show up at the door. There goes the rest of my afternoon. Amid another burst of static, Judy asks, “Can you copy?” “Stand by.” Pulling over to the side of the road, I park in front of an apartment complex and extract a blank work order from under the seat. There’s a pen rolling around on my dashboard; snatching it, I scribble on the paper until it starts to write. “Go ahead.” “One four seven two Ridgeview Lane.” I copy down the address. “Repeating. One four seven two Ridgeview Lane. Customer is a new install, three outlets, collect $42.50. Code red.” I groan. Code red—I was right. Something happened and the guy wasn’t hooked up when he was supposed to be, and now he’s mad. And they’re sending me into the lion’s den. Just what I need today. “Ten-four.” “Be careful, Charles,” Judy adds. “He’s a real jerk.” I roll my eyes as I pull back onto the street. She has to learn to watch what she says over that radio.