Anyone who knows me knows that I have had a lot of jobs in my short thirty-fidoodley years. Several overlapped, while most were very brief experiments as I tried to find my niche (e.g., dispatcher for a gay escort agency, bathroom mopper for a gay housecleaning company, newspaper folder.)
 
None were quite as soul-crunching as my brief stint as a telemarketer.
 
In the early 2000s, I was in my mid-twenties and my bank account was in the low teens. Having just quit my job as a waiter after providing helpful feedback to a difficult customer (I believe the words were, “stupid, ugly, skanky whore”, but remember, it’s all in how you say it) I was scrambling to find something new. I replied to an ad in the paper for a receptionist at a mysterious company I had driven past almost everyday. I didn’t know what the company did but I knew it was right across from the Krispy Kreme factory and that was enough for me.
 
I went to the interview with the confidence I always carry into such meetings.  I pride myself in my ability to tell people exactly what they want to hear, which is why parents always like me. I laid on the charm and once again it worked - I was told that I was overqualified to be a receptionist and was offered the position of Call Center Manager instead. I hadn’t even been hired yet and already I got a promotion. Things were definitely looking up.
 
Until I actually started the job. My office was a small and cramped cell, replete with cinder block walls and a concrete floor. The two opposing walls were lined with 4’X4’ cubicles, each with a chair and a telephone.  All that was missing was a latrine.
 
Our job was to cold call unsuspecting recipients of “prizes” … a diamond ring, a Rolex, a photography package, even keys to a new car…offers so generous that surely they wouldn’t mind a modest co-pay of, say, 100%.  The pièce de résistance:  an overnight stay at an upstate resort where they would cheerfully attend a timeshare pitch for a property that was coincidentally owned by my CEO.
 
This little bait and switch routine normally landed them in an Amway-like group where they could get their cleaning supplies, diapers, hairspray and glazed hams at low-low prices. Often the police would run similar scams and those marks would only end up arrested for outstanding warrants. Which is the lesser of two evils? Who’s to say?

Many of the recipients of these “prizes” had never won anything in their life and I had to play along with their screams of joy. I hated myself a little more each day.
 
All one needed to work at this company was a voice and the ability to lie convincingly, and so it was that I managed the motliest crew of misfits since Girl 6. Shortly after I began working at this company, AKA hell with a vending machine, a new receptionist was hired in the position for which I had originally applied. Her name was Gayle she had been too stupid, or possibly too shrewd, to accept a promotion during her interview. Gayle was one of those women I had heard of but had never actually met: a recent divorcee who never worked a day in her life until her husband left her for his secretary. Gayle was pleasant and easy to get along with but there was a fear in her eyes that seemed to say, “I have no idea what I’m doing. How did I end up here? This is not my beautiful desk. This is not my beautiful life.” Yet she muddled through with a cheery attitude that bordered on insanity.

The company was owned by an Arab businessman who was training his teenage son to one day take over the family business of lies, deceit and faux car giveaways. I worked at the company over Christmas, and even though the owner was Muslim and celebrating Ramadan by fasting every day, he loved Christmas and all of the pomp and circumstance that came with it. To celebrate the birth of the lord he did not believe in, of course I am no one to talk, he planned a huge holiday blowout before the office closed down for two weeks. It seems people were less responsive to calls for prizes that were too good to be true at that time and the owner thought it better to close than to pay the staff for no victims during.

As compensation for our unpaid time off the holiday party was catered, complete with alcohol, and we all received our bonus checks at the end of the party. Again I did not think this one through fully as it meant that I would have to stay until the end of the party and suffer the fool with people I would never associate otherwise. To make matters worse the owner of the company was video taping the entire party for posterity so I had to force a smile and mock cheer every time the camera would pan my way. This was a true challenge as the only alcohol provided was vodka and the only mixers were diet coke and root beer. The food that had been lauded for weeks before the party consisted of roast beef sandwiches on white bread with mustard. Had there been ham I could have faked it more easily but the owner’s Muslim background prevented him from any pork products within a 20-foot radius.

I ended up sitting next to Gayle at the party who was seemingly thrilled to get free alcohol and cold cuts before being off for 2 weeks.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” Gayle asked, her shoulders bouncing to the pop music in the background.

“Not particularly,” I replied swilling another shot of straight vodka.

“O come on, it’s a Christmas party. Get in the Christmas spirit,” she said as she began to give me some deep shoulder action in rhythm to the Christina Aguilera music coming from the CD player. Both the CD and player had been purchased from the company’s Amway-style book of wares and the roast beast and vodka had probably come from there as well. As I looked around I began to notice that the cups, plates, tablecloths, and decorations were all from this same book. I was trapped in a showroom of cheap crap. It was like being at my grandma’s house. Only difference was the food was slightly worse.

“This isn’t a Christmas party, Gayle. Think about it. We’re trapped here. We’re being fed shitty food. There’s a crazy Muslim videotaping us. This is a hostage situation.”

Gayle expelled a big, hearty belly laugh, throwing her head back and opening her mouth wide. “You are crazy!” she said before taking another bite of her dry sandwich while smiling. I poured myself another shot of vodka I realized that I hated her a little.

When the party finally ended and I received my bonus check which was a paltry $200 as compensation for the loss of 10 days of work, which probably was not illegal but definitely was not in the Ramadan spirit.

The holidays came and went much faster than I would have liked and on January 2nd I was back in the office, making calls and managing my group of callers. The group was down by two as one had simply not returned and the other had got a job waiting tables at a local Waffle House. A sizeable step up in the business world.

My spirit and passion for the job was dwindling day by day, and considering the amount with which I had started I was dangerously into the red as far as drive was concerned. One day I stood from my desk, after making “cold calls” from the phone book to tell people that their name had come up as grand prizewinners, to get a chocolate snack to make life worth living again. At the vending machine I ran into Gayle who was muttering to herself while holding three candy bars. She inserted change into the machine and pressed her selection again and when the same kind of candy bar fell again I heard her expel what in Gayle’s life would constitute a swear word. “Crud!” she said vehemently.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, truly not caring but desperate for my turn at the machine.

“I want a bag of chips but it keeps giving me this candy bar. Watch,” she said as she inserted another dollar into the slot. ”B-13,” she stated slowly while pointing to the code below the salt and vinegar chips. “B,” she said clearly while mashing the corresponding button. “Thirt,” as she pressed the one followed by “….teeeeeeen” as she mashed the three.

I sighed quietly and rolled my eyes behind Gayle’s back as I saw what she was doing wrong. “Honey, there’s a button that says ‘13.’ You’re getting this candy bar because you’re hitting B-1.”

She thought for a moment, taking in the words. “O lordy, I’m so stupid!” she exclaimed before laughing wildly and throwing her head back and opening her mouth wide once again. “Don’t tell anybody I did that! I’ll never live it down!”

Truth was, no one would have cared. Gayle worked alone at the front desk and rarely interacted with any of the telemarketers except for me, save for the occasional run-in at the vending machine or the yearly Christmas party. Gayle existed in a world of her own at the front desk completely devoid of regular contact, second hand smoke (yes, smoking was allowed at our desks in the call room) and responsibility. Gayle’s job was to offer the clipboard to guests when they arrive and inform a salesperson that their next mark was waiting. The telephone rarely rang at the front desk so Gayle was free to explore the new and exciting world of the “Internet” that she had recently discovered. I know this because I had made the mistake of offering up my e-mail address once and had been besieged with forwards containing pictures of funny kittens, or poems about the depth of our friendship. I didn’t even know Gayle’s last name. I’m sure she did not believe the words within the e-mails she was forwarding, rather feared the recriminations that would come with not forwarding a chain letter. Also it gave her something to do as not to focus on her broken marriage.
 
While I wanted to hate Gayle and mock her for not knowing how to obtain chips from a vending machine, I truly could not. Truth was I mostly envied her. I wanted to be Gayle. I wish I could have put off obtaining a job until I was in my mid-forties. I wanted to be pleased with free food and drinks, no matter how unsatisfying, simply because they were free. I wished that I could do nothing but explore the Internet while at work instead of calling innocent citizens and dooping them into a pyramid scheme from which they could never escape. In a way, Gayle had become my idol.

With my newfound desire for simplicity and Gayle as my mentor I marched into the Manager’s office and told him that I was officially putting in my two-week notice, planning to take that time to find another job that did not kill me a little inside each day. The company’s policy was that any employee who quit without two weeks notice would be paid minimum wage with no bonuses, most likely also illegal. I told the manager that I would finish out my time there and he should find a replacement who could better tolerate the duplicity. He thanked me for my honesty and agreed to let me work out my time.

Shortly thereafter I went to lunch and thought about the two weeks stretching out in front of me like an uphill climb littered with broken glass and razor wire. Could I sit in that smoky room and convince people of a prize that would never come? Could I randomly choose numbers from the phone book and tell the person who answered that their name had come up in a raffle? And then I thought about Gayle. I remembered when she had mentioned a popular new singer and his single titled “Babble On.” I had had to explain to her that it was actually “Babylon,” like the city. I remembered her high-pitched giggle at her faux pas and how she didn’t even care. There was no reason she should have known that and it didn’t bother her that she looked foolish. My feelings for Gayle had swung from envy back to hatred simply because I envied her so much. I wanted to not know things and see the world with bright eyes. I wanted to make mistakes and let someone correct me. I wished for the time when I didn’t have multiple jobs behind me and years of experience with the darkness in men’s hearts.

Right then I made a choice. I walked back to my car, belly full and heart aching from lunch, and drove home. I had to find a new job that day. I had to get away before my soul was as dark as the manager’s.

A week later I returned to retrieve my final check. I walked in the front door and saw Gayle attempting to insert a CD into the player by forcing it into a crack between the console and speaker. I smiled seeing that she hadn’t changed.

“Hey, sugar,” she said cheerfully.

“Hi, Gayle,” I responded attempting to match if not exceed her cheerful attitude. “I’m here to pick up my last check.”

“What? You don’t work here anymore?” She was truly shocked and I was once again enamored with her for the fact that she did not notice that I had not been in the office for a full week.

“No, I quit. I’m off to bigger and better things.”

“Good for you!” she said with palpable enthusiasm as she flipped through the checks in her drawer. Unfortunately mine was not there and I was informed that it was waiting in the manager’s office. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

I walked into the manager’s office attempting to fain confidence while in actuality I was sick to my stomach with the idea of confronting such a formidable opponent. He was sitting back in his chair and glared at me for a moment before speaking. “Why did you tell me that you would work out a notice when you had no intention of doing so?”

Without missing a beat I replied, “Well, I’ve seen how much you lie to other people here and I didn’t think you would be a man of your word and pay me my full salary anyway.”

He thought about this for a moment and shook his head before reaching into his desk drawer and handing me my check. “Good luck,” he said as he handed it to me and oddly he sounded sincere.

I nodded as a response and walked out of his office with my feeble check in my hand. I said goodbye to Gayle as I walked past her desk and silently thanked her for the inspiration she had given me.

When I was safely in my car I tore into the check to see exactly how much over I had been screwed. To my surprise I found that the amount was for a full 2-weeks at full pay. Had I made a mistake? Was the company truly not as evil as I had inferred? Did I jump the gun in an effort to be Gayle-like? As I sat there questioning my decision I saw a car pull in and park near me. A family exited the car with smiles beaming. Realizing they were about to have the smile emotionally and fiscally beaten out of them with a pyramid scheme I realized that there was a chance to be Gayle, but it could not happen for me inside that building. Gayle had the Gayle market cornered there and I needed to spread my cheer and idiocy elsewhere. With this in mind I started my car and drove off into the sunset.