Carrie rubbed her eyes and yawned as she entered her kitchen the following morning. Though she had taken Rogue for his morning walk, the fresh air hadn’t fully woken her. Toodles wound herself around Carrie’s legs, meowing. Rogue thumped his tail on the floor and drooled.
“All right, all right, wait a minute.” She went to the cupboard that held Toodles’ and Rogue’s food, but stopped midway across the room. Something was out of place. She pivoted on one foot to look more closely at her kitchen table. After pushing her knuckles into her eyes again, she blinked hard. On the table sat a gorgeous designer handbag, half open. A bright orange jumpsuit trailed from it and there were strange, electronic devices visible inside.
Carrie staggered a few steps and gripped the counter top. Her dream. It was the bag from her dream. But if it was really here, then...? Her eyes turned to her under-sink cupboard. She squatted and tugged the handle. The door was still stuck fast. No green glow, no mist, but the handbag was here, and there was no other explanation for it nor for the weird objects it contained.
Standing and looking through her kitchen window, she saw that outside the world seemed pretty much as she remembered it. The sky was grey and the day drizzly. Three floors below, cars and buses were passing and children were trudging to school. Two huge dogs were taking their owner for a walk. Could there really be inhabited planets and alien races and spaceships and all that stuff?
She shivered and rubbed her arms. If that giant bug and everything it talked about did exist she was not going to have anything to do with it. What was it the creature had said the job was? Space detective, that was it. She would probably have to go among aliens like that insect. No way. She was going to start work today as a...a call centre...thingy, and be normal. She was also bent on making a success of her new job. She was nearly twenty, and much too old to be drifting from one temporary position to another. This time, she was going to forge a career.
She gasped. She had forgotten she was starting work today. She looked at the clock. It was half past eight and she had to be there by nine. Grabbing tins of pet food, she hastily opened them and spooned the contents into Toodles’ and Rogue’s bowls. After rinsing the tins she threw them in her recycling box and turned to leave, but on the tabletop the gorgeous bag seemed to be tempting her. Why not? She thought. She doubted the alien bug could come after her for it. The space under her sink was far too small. It would never fit through, and she had travelled through the mist to reach the bug. Aliens were probably forbidden by some galactic treaty from coming to Earth and scaring people.
Tipping the bag’s strange contents onto the table, she quickly transferred the essentials from her old handbag into it. “Bye, Toodles, bye, Rogue,” she called as she closed the door to her flat.
***
“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.
***
By ten, Carrie had dealt with four complaints in a similar way. Maybe she was not exactly following procedure, but when she had more time to learn the ropes she would improve, she was sure. This job is a piece of cake, she thought, and as she had that thought, she noticed that cake was being shared around the office. Everyone had put their customers on hold and they were all chatting and eating.
No one had brought her any cake. Carrie swivelled her chair round to face her desk and buried her head in her file, trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed what was happening.
“It’s Jerry’s birthday today,” said a male voice. “I thought you might like some cake.” Carrie looked up. It was Mr. Handsome, plate and fork in hand, smiling at her.
“I’d love some,” said Carrie, accepting the plate and immediately forking a piece of rich chocolate cake into her mouth. “Oh, this is delicious,” she said, spitting crumbs.
“Yes, Mary made it. She does a lot of baking.”
“It’s wonderful.” That was so nice of him to bring me some cake, she thought. He must have seen I was left out. The man propped himself on her desk, and her heart lifted.
“How are you getting on?” he asked.
“Oh, fine.” Carrie paused. She chewed and swallowed. “Well, actually, I tell the customers we’ll do something soon and hang up.”
The man laughed. “That’s one way of dealing with complaints, I suppose.”
“I’m trying my best, but what else can I do? I’ve no idea where all those forms are that are mentioned in my file, and I don’t know what most of this stuff means. In fact, I don’t know what any of this stuff means.”
The man waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. No one from higher up ever said as much, but I think the idea is to frustrate the customers so much they give up complaining. The last person who took the job didn’t last more than an hour. He’s the reason you don’t have your own phone.” He nodded at a dent in the wall.
Carrie’s eyes widened. “He threw it at the wall?”
“Maintenance haven’t got around to supplying a new one. It might take a while.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can use all of yours. It isn’t like I’m on the phone for long.” She shovelled another large piece of cake into her mouth. It was delectable.
“I’m Dave, by the way.”
“Carrie.”
“Nice to meet you, Carrie.” He stood to leave.
“Hey, Dave, I’m new in town. I don’t suppose, tonight, maybe...?”
“Oh, you’re having a housewarming?”
Carrie closed her eyes as she ate the last mouthful of sweet, moist, crumbly cake. She nodded absently.
“Sure, I’ll come over. About seven?”
“Mmmm...” Carrie sighed in satisfaction and sucked chocolate cream from her teeth. As Dave left, she realised he had agreed to a date. Her first day at her new job was getting better and better.
A few minutes later the gum-chewing woman arrived to take her plate.
“Thanks,” said Carrie. “Wait a minute. Can I ask you something?”
The woman paused, holding the plate in midair.
“That guy, Dave, is he, you know, attached?”
“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”
“Oh good. He’s gorgeous, don’t you think? And he’s got great taste in clothes.”
The woman smirked. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it, and walked away laughing.