I, on the other hand, have been with a new kidney for over a year now. April 18, 2010 was the day I received my life-saving organ. Certain people knew, but I didn't advertise it because I felt it was more of a private situation.
Today, I felt like letting people know about it because it is a blessing to be allowed a second chance and I shouldn't waist one minute of my life that God has blessed me. I will be writing from time to time about what's going on in my world and the world around me.
For now, I'd like for you to sit back and enjoy a story I wrote called "Last Day". Its about a Customer Service Rep finally saying what he always wanted to say. Enjoy!
Last Day
Robert C. Price
Imani Stack sat in his cubicle and thought about his last day at Smith, Simon and Shingle. It was a forgone conclusion that made it complete when he gave his two week notice, or really one week to his supervisor. His contempt for him and his bootlicking of every executive that gave a smile only made it that much easier.
It was 2pm on a Friday and he was surprised at himself for staying this long when he could’ve not shown up. But his parents always told him to finish what he started, no matter how much you hate it. A virtue not used frequently in this microwave society.
By 4pm and after his brief stint drinking coffee, he became increasingly impatient with his duration. He was part of the new caste of the 21st century; Customer Service. Always a smile through the phone and a helpful lilt. Even when the customer is dead wrong and has caused a catastrophe beyond repair or redemption, the smile must be ever present and sincere. The serfs tending the crops of the corporate fiefdom.
His erstwhile schedule was 8 to 5 and he just had an hour to go before bidding farewell to his fellow subjects. Meanwhile, Imani’s supervisor slithered by and gave a very unprofessional glare in his direction, which he reciprocated by giving him the finger behind his back.
He smiled that mischievous smile that always had his women co-workers wanting to know him on a more personal level. But that was all he would give them. Just enough conversation and interaction to keep them wanting, however, not enough to warrant an intimate connection. Always keep it separate. No bonds. No attachments.
Imani has always been that way. Even as a child, he never quite connected with his family.
Barbara Jean, his mother, would smother him with affection never ceasing in her efforts of adoration. His eyes would show a coldness toward her that did not go unnoticed, which only energized her persistence.
It was now 4:30 and a half hour to go until the end of his shift. The end of his career that was never really his passion.
The call came in just as he was going on his last and final break.
“Hello. Thank you for calling Smith Simon and Shingle. My name is Imani. How may I help you today?” he asked.
The caller, with disgust in his voice, answered, “What kind of name is that?”
Imani, thanking God that this was his last day, said, “My name sir. How may I help you?” holding his sarcasm at bay.
“Is that one of those Muslim names?” the caller asked with a slight twang in his voice.
Rolling his eyes, the customer service rep explained that his name was not Muslim, but African in origin, meaning “Faith”.
“Why can’t you have an American name? Are you from Africa ?” asked the vexatious caller.
Trying to be as calm as the ocean, but with a rising tide developing into a full blown tempest, Imani asked the gentleman, “How can I help you, sir?”
“You can help me by lettin’ me speak to an American.”
Usually, if a customer asked to speak with a manager or was irate and difficult, he would get his supervisor without hesitation. Anytime not to deal with a patron was a welcome diversion, however, this was his last day. He felt the need to do battle with this egregious opponent.
“You are speaking with an American, sir. Just because my name is not of Anglo descent, such as Billy Bob or Biff does not deny my citizenship,” stated Imani.
“What did you say to me?”
“I said that I am American and how may I help you?”
“Let me speak to your manager,” demanded the caller.
Calmly, the exiting customer service rep said, “No.”
“What?”
“I said no, sir. Whatever your issue I can assist you with the matter.”
“Listen here fuckup, if you don’t get a manager on the phone I’m gonna-,”
“Do what sir? Close your account? By all means please do. If you are a customer? It seems that you’re preoccupied with whether I belong in this country or how American my name is. Please close your account. Why would Smith Simon and Shingle ever want to do business with you?”
By now, Imani’s co-workers and supervisor had directed their attention to his conversation. Some were shocked by his candidness. His supervisor was boiling with contempt.
“Now sir, I am still willing to assist you and resolve your issue even after your insult. So I will ask again. How may I help you?”
The caller sighed heavily on the phone. Each breath building to a crescendo of rage. His speech became deliberate and tense.
“Do you know who I am you piece of garbage? You think hiding behind the phone taking calls like a trained monkey makes you somewhat in control?”
Imani frowned on the word monkey and in an instant showed a twinge of anger.
“You people walk around like you own the world, but we were here first. We own this land. Not you foreigners and so called Americans. You’re just a bunch of animals defecating on our soil.”
Once the caller completed his tirade, Imani began to chuckle at the man’s expense.
“What’s so funny nig-?”
“Really? You were going to use the N-word? I’m a little disappointed. I thought we were going to have this verbal shootout, but you’re just a pathetic racist with nothing else to do.
First, Native Americans were here before you. You can’t claim what was never yours to begin with, but that’s another discussion.
Again I am an American. I don’t know of any other way to make it clearer except wear red, white, and blue and have fireworks shoot out of my ass.
Plus, I didn’t think you knew a big word like defecate with your limited intelligence.”
When he heard the click, his supervisor was already dashing toward him, reaching for his headphones.
Everyone in the call center stared at Imani in astonishment. The call itself lasted ten minutes. His smile never left his face. Even as his boss ranted about his unprofessionalism.
Imani held up his hand to cease the senseless diatribe that his supervisor was unleashing and asked, “You do know that this is my last day, right?”
Wow, that was good. I think we all have encounters like that when dealing with customers and wish we can just let them have it. Very good.
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