Call Centre Operator

By H.M.S. Pereira

Henrique P. is one of the many teenagers that moved to Lisbon to study and he’s quickly introduced to the world of temporary work and call centres, working in customer service for a telecommunications company.

Whilst working as an operator in Portugal’s capital, Henrique crosses paths with a lot of different people, from the intellectuals to the failed artists, or the down-and-outs from his young generation.

Throughout the capital’s streets, extravagant meals, empty nights, wasted time at Bingo, rented rooms and a frustrated love life, the book accompanies Henrique in his hard task of trying to survive in a small Lisbon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jul 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667407067

Book preview

CALL CENTRE OPERATOR

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events/businesses etc. is purely coincidental.

To Buk, obviously.

Work is the evil of the world

Quote written in one of Lisbon’s streets

1

I started off that morning with a big breakfast in a nearby café. It was my first day of training and I got to the building, in Chelas, feeling heavy. I walked in and saw the coffee machine, the type that you see in every single building of every single company. I put 25 cents inside and waited for the coffee to brew. People started arriving. Some would be my training colleagues and others would be my future work colleagues.

None of them would be much more than that.

It all started with a text I got from a temporary employment agency signed up to – Jobs 4 Us. The text said something like: We’re recruiting for a Call Centre Customer Service Operator role for Luso-Cabo. Option of part-time or full time with a monthly salary based on the functions performed. Contact Susana XYZ on the number XYZ.

I was in deep shit at the time: no job, no higher education, no money and no ambitions for the future. I replied to the text. A few days later, there I was, ready for 2 weeks of training, from 11am to 6pm.

I said a few hello’s here and there but I basically stayed away from people. I didn’t like people. I didn’t have anything to say to them and most of the times I found what came out of their mouths to be boring. I drank my coffee and drew another cigarette to kill a bit more time. They looked all excited and speculated over which tasks they’d be doing and how much money we’d earn. I immediately started checking the girls out, trying to guess which one would have the best boobs, the best legs and the best ass. In the meantime, Zulmira B arrived, she looked at the group and introduced herself as our trainer. I’d already met Zulmira B in a group task that I had done two days ago that consisted in doing the usual presentations and reading an excerpt from an article. I said my name, age, let them know my schedule availability and read the excerpt well. A few hours later, I got a call from Susana X letting me know the time and place to be to start my training. All in a 3 days’ time.

We got in the room and Zulmira started telling us what tasks we’d be assigned to and what our 2 weeks’ training would be like. I quickly realised it was going to be 2 long boring weeks. Judging by everyone’s look on their faces, I think they thought it too.

At the end of the day, I got the bus to Benfica, where I lived with my mum. I got home and she asked how my first day went. I just told her it went well. A short answer to avoid an actual conversation so I could just go and lock myself in my room as soon as possible. And that’s how it went. On that night, like many others, I only left my room to have dinner.

During that time, I don’t know why, my mum was always about. She worked in the outskirts of Lisbon but I never knew where she worked or what she did exactly. I’ve never asked her directly and she’s never bothered to tell me either. She was just over 50, I think. She quit her studies way too young and started partying way too soon. It seemed her brain was only functional when there was a sale on and we couldn’t seem to have a conversation for more than 15 minutes without arguing. No one could ever contradict what she said, but they should because of all the rubbish that came out of her mouth. Then she’d go in a mood and not speak to me for days, like a child. I was counting the days till I could leave that house. I had my meals cooked for me, my clothes washed and ironed and a roof over my head but none of that would compare to the peace and quiet I’d get from not living with her.

During that period, me and my mum would have big arguments over my future and what I was doing with my life, like she’d always say. I’d greet her in the morning (before I’d sit to have lunch) and she’d start going:

-  Oh Henrique, would you look at those trousers! And that shirt!? It looks like a rag... I feel embarrassed knowing that’s what you wear out in the streets!... Didn’t I wash that last week?

-  Good morning, mum. What’s for lunch? – I’d ask.

-  That’s the only thing I’m good for, isn’t it?! Washing your clothes, cleaning your room and making you food! There’s no getting you to do something with your life! There’s no getting you to do something to make your own mother happy! Look at you! You look ragged! You’re twenty-something now, Henrique... You’re a grown man... – she went on, wanting to start the argument of the week.

She always looked so authoritative when she spoke about life. As if she’d never been clueless herself... She blamed me for dropping out of two courses, for not having a job, for not having any taste and not dressing well, for living in Benfica, for her having to pay the water, gas and electric bills (like everyone else had to), for her not having money, for her being sick, for her having to pay to commute from wherever she worked whilst I’d lounge around every day and all these other ridiculous reasons she’d find as a topic for an argument over our meals. I’d lock myself in my room for as many hours as possible. She’d stay in the kitchen or her bedroom watching TV. Unless she was roaming around the stores of some random shopping centre or getting her hair done.

2

The days spent in training quickly became part of my daily routine. Zulmira B would spit out the words on the Powerpoint whilst everyone counted the minutes until lunch time or 6pm.

We started having lunch at the Faculty of Engineering, which was right in front of our building. You could eat well there. They had good meals for €1.90 and, since you didn’t need to show your student card, almost everyone went there to have lunch. Sometimes, even Zulmira B.

As always, having my meal was always the highlight of my day. I loved eating and I was a chubby guy. I devoured everything I ate since I was a little kid. Anything with meat in it. Not bothered about chocolate or sweets. But meat? Oh, meat... Food was my only trusted source of pleasure, it’d rarely disappoint me. And when it did, it was easily redeemable with more food.

I started hanging out with some of the boys, but only enough so I seemed included in the group. To be honest, I wasn't interested in getting to know anyone...

- Hey, what's up? – asked me one of the guys – What do you do outside of this place, man?

- Nothing. I'm just looking for a job. What else can a guy do?

- Don't you study, man?!

- I used to. I got sick of it. It was too time-consuming. I prefer spending it eating – I said.

- Oh! Heheh...

And then they started talking about the course and what they'd do with it and where they had already worked... They're all the same, one after the other. Each of them with their own little aspirations. People were so similar, it exhausted me. Sometimes I'd be the stupid one asking the questions... At least that was enough to make some time until we had to get back to the classroom with Zulmira...

Two weeks and one or two dropouts later, we took the Luso-Cabo test, the last step before we became Lusa-Cabo Line Activation Operators. Our task would be to assist people who had recently purchased a Cablebox (a device that scans and decodes tv channels' signals) or a modem to access the Internet. You'd buy these devices in the stores as kits and they'd have a number on them for you to call to activate them.

That's where we'd come in: Good evening, you're speaking to Henrique Pissada from Luso-Cabo, how can I help? You'd like to activate your Modem? Great, just hold on a second, please... Doing this bullshit was what we were recruited for. But this bullshit was something that needed to be done.

I passed the test. Now that’s something. At least I was qualified for this job. I, personally, wasn’t too sure but if the test said so... Zulmira B was happy, like a mum who’s proud of her little kids. I was now Henrique Pissada, a Luso-Cabo employee.

3

I started looking for a house as soon as I knew I’d passed the test and was going to keep working there. We were at the end of November, coming to the end of what had been a terrible year. I still had some leftover money from the settlement I’d had in my previous job at a film rental shop. That money would be enough to afford the first month’s rent and the move. I didn’t want any help from my parents.

I looked for house adverts in newspapers and on the Internet. At last, I found a room going for €180, right there in Benfica. I wouldn’t earn a lot of money at Luso-Cabo. I’d be working part-time, from 8pm till midnight. But alongside the monthly allowance I still managed to get from my old man and with some extra money from a grandmother or aunt I couldn’t care less for, I’d end up with about €500 per month. It’d be enough to get by. At least that’s what I thought at the time. But it wouldn’t be long till I had to start upping my hours at my job...

My mum was suspicious. She didn’t understand what type of job that was and couldn’t fathom how I would be able to afford living by myself. She accused me of wanting to walk about Lisbon all day just so I could work a few hours at night. She was right. That neurotic woman knew me well. In fact, I didn’t want to work. I’d already previously worked for a year and a half and hated it. It seemed like a waste of time to work for all those hours, doing the same thing, inside the same space for days on end. That’s basically a summary of most of the jobs out there. I knew that. Unfortunately, though, my parents couldn’t provide for me. My only choice was to work. In fact, I had no idea what I wanted to do and whether I even knew how to do anything in the first place. I knew the following: I didn’t want to live under the same roof as them. I wanted to be by myself.

I went to do a house viewing of the house share. 4 rooms, 4 lads, one rent. The space seemed enough for me and I thought I’d have the privacy that I was hoping for. My room was the only vacant one. The worst of all 4, by the look of things. It was basically a pantry attached to the kitchen. The window overlooked the kitchen’s balcony, not the street itself... The room wasn’t furnished. Therefore, I’d have to get someone to transport the furniture I had at my mum’s house.

In the meantime, she was also preparing to move. I don’t really know where to. Apparently, to the city where she worked. I never found out the name... She may as well. We’d end up calling each other. We always got on well when we spoke on the phone.

4

I started feeling quite positive. I was hopeful of a new life. Which would be lived within a tighter living space, but I was hopeful anyway.

Everything was going well at my job. Following a few days of shadowing our colleagues, we started taking the calls ourselves. The building where we worked was in Saldanha. There were loads of people taking calls in the room. We heard the typical work office hustle that you see on the TV or in films: people came in and out, they’d get up, they’d ask for help, they’d ask to go out... Everyone seemed to want something and have something to do. But everything would calm down after 8pm. For the first few weeks, doing this job for 4 hours in the evening seemed like the easiest job in the world for me.

There were barely any calls to take and there were loads of times I wouldn’t have anything to do. So ideal. I started taking a few novels with me to read. Most people that worked there were students, so they’d bring their school or university assignments in with them. Since I finished my studies quite a while back, all I could really do was read novels.

I would sleep until 1 or 2pm in my new room. Sometimes I’d wake up a bit earlier and I’d think to myself What the fuck am I going to do if I get up now? I’ve got fuck all to do... So I’d just go back to sleep. I’d wake up later on and go for a piss and a shower. Sometimes, I’d notice my house mates would be around. If they were in the kitchen, which was right next to my room, I’d only leave my room after they left. I didn’t want to see or speak to them. I’d only seen them a few times since I moved in and I wasn’t really bothered about seeing them again. I didn’t want to get to know them. I wasn’t interested in knowing what they did, nor what they thought about life and how it should be lived. I’d already heard enough on that whilst living with my parents.

When I introduced myself to my house mates, I told them I was a student, I had a job and that I did some short films in my free time. I lied. I lied so they’d leave me alone and thought my life was as normal as theirs. Two of them had just graduated and were working in their fields and the third one was still at university. All doing well in life and well integrated.

One of them had a girl that used to torment me during the afternoon. Her name was Adriana. Sometimes I’d wake up at 11am to the sound of her hairdryer turning on. We’d not seen each other a lot but I’d seen her enough to notice her massive boobs, blonde hair and her small stature. Sometimes I’d also wake up to the sound of the high heels she used and I’d hear her walk from the kitchen to the bathroom, from the bathroom to the living room, from her room to the bathroom, etc... She had the keys to the house so she’d always arrive home early and wait for her sweetheart to come home. From the few times I spoke to her, I only said Hey, how are you doing? or just See you later. After a few weeks, I was wanking myself over the thought of her, her boobs and her drying her blonde hair in my bathroom.

I had cable TV in my room. Courtesy of Luso-Cabo, obviously. The other rooms didn’t have it. It was a sort of compensation for my room being the shittiest in the house. I watched a lot of documentaries from the Lives of Men channel. Sometimes I’d also watch Discoveries and some random news channel. But, generally, I didn’t really care about what was going on in the world. I’d watch the Lives of Men channel and get a good grasp of all there was to know: we’d always been idiots and we still were. I liked watching documentaries. In one way or another, they always supported my view of things.

5

In the first few months, I still spent a lot of time at the film library. I’d make the most of my afternoon offs and go and watch some films. I’d fall asleep through some of them so, once my salary started coming in, I started spending the 2 film session’s money on the wonderful toast they served at the bar.

If I weren’t eating at the bar, I’d spend my time reading or simply by not doing anything at all besides smoking, drinking coffee and looking at some asses. But I didn’t really like the girls that attended the film library. Nor the guys. I’d look at them and they all seemed like a bunch of snobs to me.

I stopped attending the film library less frequently and started spending