Mission Improbable-4
788 Words
“NICE BAG.”
Carrie was passing through the cubicles on her way to her new desk when the good-looking guy spoke to her. He was sitting in the same place, headphone and mic on. Carrie grinned at him and hoisted the bag higher up her shoulder. He was right. It was a nice bag. A very nice bag. She smiled at the other workers, but they ignored her. Her smile fell. Oh well, it would take time to get to know everyone.
“So, this is where you sit.” Ms. Bass motioned towards a clean, bare cubicle at the back of the room. It looked fresh and new, as if no one had stayed in it very long or made it into a personal space. Carrie sat down and was unable to resist swiveling her chair right around, catching hold of her desk to stop herself as she completed her circle.
Ms. Bass’ eyebrows rose higher. She plonked down the large file she was carrying. “Your main responsibility is to deal with customer issues and complaints. All the procedures are in here.” She tapped the file with a long, French-manicured fingernail. “You must become thoroughly acquainted with them. Luckily for you, Friday mornings are usually quiet, so you should have time to familiarise yourself a little with the necessary information before the first complaint comes in.”
Carrie looked from the thick file to Ms. Bass. “That’s all I have to do? Deal with complaints?”
“You must address the customers’ issues according to the manual. To the letter. Do you understand?”
Carrie frowned. “Do you get a lot of complaints?”
Ms. Bass rolled her eyes, and left.
Swivelling her chair around again, Carrie noticed a young woman watching her as she spoke into a mic. Carrie smiled and waved, but the woman turned to her screen. Carrie sighed and pulled herself closer to her desk. She opened the file. The contents page was all but incomprehensible. She flicked through the thick wad of paper. In the event of a faulty T-flange, one page read, complete form 167F. Include the date of purchase and the date the customer first noticed the fault. Tick the relevant boxes. Listed below were a range of noises a faulty T-flange might make, including whining, grinding, squeaking, and clunking. Carrie’s shoulders sagged as she turned more pages. They were all similar: extremely long, detailed forms to complete and complex procedures to follow. What on Earth did this company sell?
Carrie gradually became aware of someone standing on the edge of her vision. The young woman who had caught her eye earlier was nearby, her jaws working on a piece of chewing gum.
Holding out her hand, Carrie said, “Hi, I’m—”
“Complaint, line five.” The woman turned on her heel and walked away. Carrie’s hand flopped to her side. A complaint? She had to get on it right away and make a good impression on her first day at work. She scanned her desk, but she had no telephone or headset and mic like everyone else. How was she supposed to...? She saw the woman had returned to her desk and was idly holding up a receiver while chatting with her colleague in the next cubicle. Hefting the complaints procedures file into her arms, Carrie went over.
“So I said to her,” the woman said to her colleague in the next cubicle as Carrie took the receiver from her, “do all the teachers get fined when they go on strike, then, and I have to take time off work to look after Eddie because he can’t go to school?”
Carrie held the receiver to her ear. Handel’s Messiah was cut short as the woman pressed a button on her keyboard.
“Hello?” said Carrie. A stream of loud curses spewed from the receiver, and she jerked her head away. When the stream slowed to a trickle, she tried again. “Can I help—?” More curses followed, some of which were new to Carrie. She attempted to make eye contact with her work colleague in hope of some information or advice, but the woman was deep in conversation about the pros and cons of taking children out of school during term time. Cradling the receiver between her shoulder and neck, Carrie opened her file and scanned the pages while listening for a mention of something even vaguely familiar in the customer’s rant, but she couldn’t recognise anything. She tried once more to interrupt, but the man was so irate she couldn’t break into the flow of words.
Carrie’s heart sank. She wanted to do a good job, but how was she supposed to help if the customers wouldn’t listen to her? And the instructions in the file were complete gobbledygook. It didn’t take long for her to grow frustrated and bored. “Thank you, sir. We’ll deal with that at the earliest opportunity,” she said, and slammed the receiver down.
Her colleague paused in her conversation. “I don’t think you’re supposed to—” But Carrie was already returning to her desk.
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- Writer
