Introductions on the Job--First Day

You must know the characters in the story: My first day on job a trainer-type person (I shall now change names---remember this is not my book you are reading, but you will get the idea, oh, my Word is still not speaking to Blogger, so excuse the grammar blips), Estelle, took the newly hired group of we, five, around the 9 story building to meet people we would be dealing with.



Out of all the first day introductions I have had (and by way of my numerous jobs, I have had many) this one was extraordinary. Perhaps comparing it to Perez Hilton and Whoopi Goldberg morphed into one person best demonstrates the absurdity of it. It was so strange, I loved it! I was not in Kansas anymore, er, Indiana, and this day was proof.



With each person we met, Estelle smiled sweetly, then as we walked to the next she would tell us all the gossip/dirt/history of that person. It was just the weirdest thing. But it was so...real. In fact, over the years as I came to know all those people, there was not a single fact Estelle got wrong. She told us who was having an affair with whom, who was a liar, who we should never trust, who was upstanding, who was insane. Estelle struck me, that day, as the craziest person I'd ever met and I felt like was flying over the cuckoo's nest, until we reached OUR floor of customer service reps., that's when I was in for a surprise.



My unit was a circus. Blinking red lights on the phones meant that a caller was in queue, waiting, to be helped. There were more red lights flashing than at any Christmas party. The employees were sitting right there, ignoring the phones, laughing, eating, talking to other employees who were walking around aimlessly. They were talking on another phone line (each phone system had several lines, silly me to think it was a business reason) or reading MAD magazine. What I didn't notice ONE rep. doing was talking to a customer.



There were two supervisors, seated in a cubicle up to their neck (everyone could see everyone else over their dividers), located in the middle of the ring, er, office, and they both were busy working on paperwork, both very earnest, yet, were they clueless? My mind was racing with, "I am sooo going to smoke at this job! I will promote! This is going to be a cake walk! Yipeee!" and "I can't believe these people are getting paid so much. No wonder electric rates are high." (The exact same thing my former boss at Bethlehem Steel said to me the day he tried to give me a raise to keep me.)



What Estelle said about the two supervisors, one a sweet, upper 30s Filipino woman that Estelle was a good friend of, and one a somewhat younger obviously (to me anyway) gay guy, is so personal in nature and crude as only Estelle could be, I won't repeat it here---but both were apparently in denial, beaten down, or burned out. How many times can you tell someone to "get to work?"



Here are some who will figure prominently in the event that my story is based on. Let's start with "The Men's Club" members. The year was 1986, and City Light was in the media and in court for discrimination charges from African Americans and women. City Light had a big problem and Seattle and City Light knew it. Nooses on lunch boxes, female line workers accidentally falling off poles, shifty promotions, on and on. When I heard there was a "Men's Club" in my unit, yeah, I couldn't believe it. They were not hiding behind white hoods, no, they were proud and recruiting openly. I just HAD to meet these goof balls.



My chance came quickly as I was seated at the desk of Bradley to "listen in," to his handling of phone calls. He was a hulk of a man with a voice deeper than a rumbling earthquake. In the future I would transfer complaining customers who, "...want to speak to a man. " He sounded like he could pulverize any super villain, yet he was as gentle as a teddy bear. That day, while waiting to hear my first call, his second line rang and he answered it.

"Hey, motherf*****! How..." CLICK Bradley swiftly hung up on his friend. My facial expression didn't budge and Bradley let one of the many waiting calls from customers come through. A month later, Bradley would pull me aside in the stairwell and tell me in his deep voice, "You are taking too many calls. Slow down." He was not joking. I was not impressed, in fact I was furious and from that day on made it my goal to take at least 100 calls a day. (The average was around 30 from most of the cuckoos, and their reasons why were nothing short of amazing.)

Jim was tall, like Bradley, but thin. He was quiet, soft spoken, and took breaks with Brad in between their many whispering conversations. They often held The Men's Club at one of their homes. No women were invited and no blacks, or any other minorities I'm aware of. So, I did the only sensible thing---I asked if I could join.

This sent TMC into a lather and after much discussion they told me, of course, after all, all they did was play games. In later years I would learn the extra discussions that went on during and after these games. My point was to put them on notice. How they got away with being so brazen with their"club" for so long was a mystery to me, except that someone higher up thought it was A-OK. The superintendent at the time was Randy Hardy, and I liked him a lot, so it was lower ranks that found the club innocent.

Tom was an openly gay guy who often sat with his feet on his desk, red light flashing and in the years he was there I never ONCE heard him speak to a customer, not once. (And I sat next to him for some months, as the newbies had no permanent desks, as a matter of fact I started as only a Temp status, though we all were eventually hired permanently.)

Joe took about 20 calls a day. I couldn't wait to sit in with him. His supervisor could often be seen trying to tell Joe how better to handle a customer, but Joe always fought back. He often accused me of not handling the account processing part of the calls properly. (New people---surprise---always took many more calls than the permanents. It was a given that once we were in the Union and permanent, then we would wise up and goof off.) To Joe I said, "prove it" and he and I would fight this fight for over a decade. His proof never appeared, and his supervisors knew the truth. Joe talked down to customers and was so confusing I don't know how anyone ever understood him. I never knew if he was real or game playing. He stayed to himself though. He was NOT a member of TMC.

Jaycee was cool, I liked her, but she didn't bathe all the time and always wore a black leather jacket. She was smart, a good rep., and took a lot of calls. She was black, a good mother, married woman who was quiet as a mouse. She had NOTHING to do with TMC. Most of the blacks there hung together and for good reason. Jaycee would be hit by a car while heading home to her family and reports were that she was crawling on all fours in the crosswalk. Our manager had her desk immediately cleared out, so fast that many co-workers would walk by and say, "Where's Jaycee?" It was so sad. The week before she died she asked me how life insurance worked and my advice on getting some for her kids. She got some. The facts behind her death remained a mystery.

As I sat with different reps., it was clear that the white employees were slackers and the minorities were gettin' the job done. Then I sat with a woman who cussed after every call. Her fuse was shorter than Tom Thumb's thumb. I sat with a woman who took 2-hour lunch breaks, daily. I sat next to a woman who watched her mini TV all day, one who typed with one finger (NOT due to MS, due to not knowing how to type, actually few of them did), one who read a Bible all day, one who talked with her kids or ex all day, and then I sat with a woman in Birkenstocks who knew what the job required. My thought was, "Whew! They are not all crazy people." She and I would become friends.

There were about 10 reps. who worked hard and knew what they were doing, 50% of them were one or the other. And staff meetings? That was the real big top! 15 kindergartners couldn't have acted less mature. Nobody was in charge and there was no agenda. Fights would erupt, coke cans would go flying, papers shoved into trash cans---I would share a glance at a friend who also saw the madness and without him I never could have kept my sanity.

It is late. These are just a few of the characters. More to come.