In the Dead of Night Read Online Free PDF

Humor Man.
    A minute or so later I heard an engine start up down the road. I waited nearly half an hour—long after it faded away—before going back to bed, which tonight remained the sofa. Snuggled up against Fiona with Gypsy curled near our feet and the gun tucked safely under a pillow, I kept my ears open for anything else…for our dark-clad visitor to return. It would be the last thing I remembered from that night, other than the dawn’s light creeping in through our living room window, announcing its promise of a long and weary Thursday.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    There’s nothing like a call center getting ready for a visit from the Big Bosses. Lots of shiny, circus-like balloons and an abundance of pens, notepads, and silly buttons. All bear the name of our employer and the latest ill-fated promotion. The carpets finally get cleaned past the imbedded popcorn kernels, and every PC and desktop is completely cleared of post-it notes and dust bunnies.
    Such unabashed phoniness.
    But everybody does it, whether it’s Wal-Mart, ATT, or even Nordstrom. Fortunately, their valued customers never see the semi-annual parade of happy horseshit. Hell, if I confessed we’re sometimes the brunt of industry jokes for an enhanced pastel shade obsession, it’d be easy to figure out who my employer is.
    But that’s not the worst part of this corporate American travesty. The worst? That happens when all of the supervisors and their assistants dressed up in their Sunday best gather at the front entrance to the warehouse-sized building we call home. Think of it as a grand procession headed straight up corporate leadership’s pompous asses. I completely envy any of my peers who manage to get the day off, long in advance.
    Back in January, I tried to hide in the back of the crowd, while my peers screamed excitedly when our CEO and CPO stepped out of the long white limousine and headed for the door. Like rock stars they waved to their fans, while our GM and his assistant served as their security escorts. More festivities followed inside, and by the time lunch arrived, the nausea had grown so bad I nearly passed out.
    Okay, maybe that’s a little exaggerated. But it really was distasteful. And to think we’d be doing it again Friday. Tomorrow.
    I arrived at the center just after 9:00 a.m. that Thursday. My lead agent and our team of fifteen CSRs (customer service representatives, for those unfamiliar with call center lingo), were busy with the Lysol and Clorox wipes, cleaning every topical surface in our cubical area. Laughing and chasing one another through the aisles, apparently they were excused from taking calls for the next hour or so. Such joyful ecstasy in their faces I’d seldom witnessed—definitely never when tethered to their computers with headsets.
    “Well, hey there, sexy!” cooed Shikira, one of my more precocious and flirtatious young reps. “Dennis says we don’t have to be back on the phones until ten-thirty.”
    She nodded toward my assistant, who handed out more Clorox wipes to the rest of the team, with Tammi and Nikki—Shakira’s closest cohorts—in tow behind him. The prettiest threesome in the center, Dennis had become their unwitting pet, completely wrapped around their pinkies for some time now. Yeah, it’s completely inappropriate for a forty-year old man to cavort about like this, and the looks on several of my other reps’ faces confirm the dangerous line he treads. Two middle-aged ladies, Suzanne and Marietta, especially make me worry every damned day about a possible lawsuit.
    Have I talked to him about it? Several times, actually. His stated commitments to act more mature have all evaporated into the massive germ-infested ventilation system coursing through the center. I can hardly wait for the next team realignment and my emancipation from the three little vermin and their pathetic puppy dog.
    My head was throbbing, compounded by lack of sleep from the night before.
    Just great.