Hell Center, a novelette

When the first ‘80s Wall Street-style obnoxious old-school telephone ring came through Emma Lee’s cheap plastic headset, she thought she was being punked. Was this really the auditory abomination her company had chosen to force upon their employees’ ears on every single call? 

“Thank you for calling Countryside Financial. This is Emma Lee speaking. How can I help you today?”

         When Emma heard the voice of her first-ever client coming through the prehistoric technology, she was absolutely certain she was being punked.

“Yeah, lemme speak to your manager, Emily,” the gruff masculine voice growled, sounding like an 80-year-old Italian man from New Jersey who smoked multiple packs a day. Emma squinted at her tiny computer screen, where the client’s information had automatically pulled through. His name was Joseph Troglione. He was, in fact, 82 years old and from Mendham, New Jersey.

“Certainly!” Emma squeaked out, sounding a little too enthusiastic. “I’d be happy to get a supervisor for you. Can we just start with your first and last name, please?”

“NO!” Joseph roared. “Just get me to a supervisor now, I got a problem.”

Feeling panic start to creep up through her throat, Emma tried to make her voice sound as confident as humanly possible.

“I just would like to have a little more information before getting a supervisor on the line. What are you looking to speak with them about?”

“Listen, little girl, I ain’t tellin’ ya shit,” Joseph said. “Countryside is holding my money. You people are fucking crooks! It’s MY retirement money, and I can’t access it. MY MONEY!”

Emma paused and tried to collect herself.

“Okay, I’m sorry to hear what’s happening —”

“Get me a FUCKING SUPERVISOR, NOW!” Joseph bellowed, cutting her off. Before he could go on another tirade, Emma hastily put him on hold and clicked to call the escalations speed dial, her whole body trembling.

“Countryside, this is Douglas. How can I help?”

“H-hi Douglas, this is Emma Lee with the Client Support Squad. I have a client on the back line who asked to speak with a supervisor. He’s a little upset.”

“All right, what’s going on?”

“He just called in and immediately asked for a manager. Said something about how we’re holding his money and called us crooks.”

“Okay, what’s his name? And is he authenticated?”

“He wouldn’t give me his name or let me do any of that, he was very upset. The name that came through says Joseph Troglione.”

Emma heard Douglas sigh deeply in the background. “So you didn’t authenticate him?”

“No, I’m sure he was going to get even more angry if I tried to ask anything,” Emma explained. “I’m sorry, it’s my first day.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Douglas snarked as Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “All right, go ahead and create a case and bring him on.”

“Okay … I’m sorry, how do I create a case again?” Emma asked. “I don’t quite remember from training.”

Douglas sighed again. “So you go to the top right corner of your screen. There’s a down arrow. You see that?”

“Yeah.”

“Click that and it’ll give you the option to create a case.”

Emma tried clicking, but to no avail. “I’m trying and it’s not doing anything.”

“All right, forget it. Just bring him on. But I’m going to be reaching out to your manager. If you still don’t know how to create a case at this point, you’re in big trouble.”

It was her first-ever call.

“O … kay,” Emma said shakily. She merged the call to bring the lovely client on the line.

“Joseph, thank you for waiting. I have —”

“MR. TROGLIONE!” he corrected her. “Show me some respect. You get me a supervisor? You were dicking around an awfully long time.”

“Emily, I’ll take it from here,” Douglas said. “Sir, my name is —”

Emma clicked to drop herself from the call and took a moment to recompose herself and type out the call notes. Before she knew it, she had been in ACW (after-call work) mode on her computer for five whole minutes, and she was getting a Skype ping from her manager, Jane Reinhorn.

“Hello Emma,” it read.

She looked at the call queue in disbelief. Zero of her fellow representatives were ready in the queue, and ten clients were waiting to be helped, meaning she was certain to get another call right away.

“I see you are in ACW for a very long time. Is everything ok?” the next Skype said. Panicking, Emma clicked into ready and took the next call, forgetting to respond to Jane. As she took a deep breath and introduced herself, more concerned messages from her boss soon followed.

21 years old and from Columbus, Ohio, Emma had recently graduated from Dumont State University and was working her first “real job" in her hometown. Sporting an average build and even more average fashion sense, she was half Chinese on her father’s side and half white on her mother’s side. Having attended a liberal arts college as a communication studies major, she wasn’t sure what she had wanted to do for a living. This job had seemed like a decent enough place to start. 

“Financial Services Professional” was the official title. The description called for a “customer service wizard” with the ability to multitask and handle a high level of stress. It also highlighted the “fast-paced environment” of the job and the “family-like camaraderie” of the team.

Countryside Financial had been in business for almost fifty years, all of which had been overseen by 75-year-old Jane Reinhorn. Jane had founded the company as a youngster along with her late husband, Eugene Reinhorn, and the two lovebirds quickly began managing city and state retirement plans. Along with such an important operation came the need for a call center for clients to voice their concerns, and the Reinhorns had built the Columbus building from the ground up. Unfortunately, the company’s resources were far from sufficient to meet the ample call-center needs of the public-sector employees it serviced. At least if the Reinhorns had the resources, they weren't willing to use them.

Emma was hired right away, without even so much as an interview. There it was, her first job out of college. In this economy, who could complain? They started her off with two weeks of training, sitting in Skype meetings all day and listening to trainers drone on about the different computer systems and the rules of various retirement plans. Then just like that, BOOM! She was on the phone with clients for the first time ever. No easing into it, no having someone listen to her calls first, not even shadowing, just a few flimsy practice roleplays and that was it. It took no longer than that first hellish call for Emma to know she was in far over her head.

On Monday of her fourth week on the job, Emma dragged her body into the office, finding her desk in the vast, drab, gray sea of cubicles that all looked the same — widely referred to around the office as the cube farm. Every iota of her dreaded the prospect of another day and week of this. Her shift ran from 12:30-9:00 pm, but the opportunity to “sleep in” didn’t make her drag any less. 

“We’re having the huddle right now, everyone,” Jane announced in a Skype chat message to the group. “Let’s get in the room.” 

            Although the call-center employees were required to come in to the office every day, Jane worked entirely from home, so their daily meetings were held in her Skype room.  Hastily, Emma logged into her computer and opened the outdated app, where the three other members of her team were on camera, plus Jane in her drab gray bedroom.

“Everyone, there’s going to be a little bit of a change this morning,” Jane said cheerily, turning on her camera to show the floppy gray hair on her head to go with her glasses and smudged lipstick. “We are now going to be in the office full-time.”

Everyone was silent, trying to figure out what this meant. They were already required to come into the office five days a week. What more could be asked of them?

“Aren’t we … already working in the office full-time?” asked Jason Monasterio, one of Emma’s middle-aged colleagues. Jason was a rotund former financial advisor who had been around the block a few times in the industry, only landing back in an entry-level role due to one unfortunate mistake that had cost him his securities licenses.

“Well, I just recently thought of an opportunity for us to connect as a team on a deeper level,” Jane said. “From this day forward, you all are going to be moving into the office and making it your full-time home! We’re all a family here at Countryside, and we should be living together like a family. Any questions?”

“Sounds great to me!” said Candy Stevens, a young, skinny girl with stringy blonde hair and bookish-looking glasses who was the boss’s pet and Jane’s number-one bootlicker. “I, for one, can’t wait to dedicate myself more completely to this role and grow closer to my family here at Countryside.”

She gave Jane a sniveling grin, and the boss returned a smile without quite matching her enthusiasm.

“That’s wonderful, Candy,” Jane said. “Does anyone else have questions or concerns?”

The other financial professionals were unable to muster words for a good thirty seconds, their eyes and faces telling the stories of their reactions. After what felt like an eternity, a bold, brash professional named Phil Delaney spoke up. Emma hadn’t gotten to know Phil all that well yet, but something about him intrigued her. A boy-next-door-handsome black guy around Emma’s age, he carried an athletic build, short curly hair, and a trim beard that was always well aligned. Phil certainly had a way with words — and with knowledgeably standing up to authority. Emma couldn’t help but wonder why he was here instead of in law school.

“Yes, Jane, I have a question,” Phil said. “How is this legal? We’re not allowed to leave? It would appear we’re being unlawfully detained.”

“It may be against the law, but it is allowed in our company,” Jane explained. “It says on page 132, paragraph 8, clause 3.6 of the Countryside employee handbook that employees CAN be detained on the premises if there is a business reason to do so. We are understaffed, we have clients needing to call in at all hours of the day.”

“But … we’re only open from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m.,” Emma pointed out.

“And it’s going to stay that way,” Jane said. “But I want to see complete dedication to the craft. None of this going home at night business. That doesn't allow you to become great at what you do. I want to see each and every one of you practicing your calls in that down time. And you need to be reading our resources more often. The more time you spend on countrysideanswers.com learning new information, the better off you’re going to be.”

Everyone stayed silent with shock, some employees looking ready to rebel but others looking frozen and catatonic like zombies. 

“Okay, I’ll be logging off for the day,” Jane said matter-of-factly. “I have a dentist appointment, so I’ll talk to everyone tomorrow. Ping me if you have any questions.”

The professionals continued to stare blankly at the screen as Jane’s image disappeared. As soon as she was out of the Skype, they unfroze, all chattering chaotically over one another.

“So this isn’t like, for real, right?” Phil said. “It’s not April Fool’s yet, what the fuck!”

“I don’t know, is she really locking up all the doors so we can’t get out?” Emma said.

“Let’s go downstairs and see,” Jason said. “There’s absolutely no chance this is legal, and if this really is a hostage situation, we need to get the cops involved. I’m fed up with this shit.”

As they started to file out of the main cubicle farm and down the stairs, another coworker spoke up.

“Wait, guys, we can’t do this!” Candy shouted as she ran after them. “Jane told us we have to stay here, guys! The employee handbook! Clause 3.6! We stay in the office!”

Everyone ignored her as they hustled down the stairs, swiped their badges to get through the turnstiles, and tried to push open the front doors. Sure enough, Jane had locked them, and they were trapped inside.

“Okay, we’re really locked in?!” Jason cried. “This is fucking psychotic!”

“All right, I’m doing it,” Phil resolved. “I’m calling the cops, this is so, so illegal.”

He whipped out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 as everyone gathered around him, watching intently.

“You’re calling the police?!” Candy cried from the top of the stairs. “You can’t do that to Jane, she’s been working here fifty years! We all need to get back on the phones, NOW! There are wonderful clients to hel—.”

“Candy, shut the fuck up!” Emma yelled, then instantly put her hand over her mouth in shock at what she had said. Phil gave her a thumbs-up, and they flashed each other a grin.

“Hmph,” Candy huffed with her arms crossed over his chest, and she bounded back up the stairs and across the cube farm to her desk, eager to take the next call.

“Yo, that was badass, Em,” Phil said quietly. “Give me some knucks for that, you gave her the business.” He held out his fist for a bump, and Emma complied with a bashful smile.

“I don’t know where that came from, but I kind of like it,” Emma said.

“Hell yeah, keep that energy going,” Phil said. He looked back at his phone, which was stuck on the call screen and still hadn’t managed to successfully dial the Columbus police. “Ugh, what the fuck is going on? The service is shit in here.”

“Here, let me try,” Jason said, getting his phone out. “Wait, are you serious right now? Are you FUCKING serious? We got no service in here! I don’t even have the damn Internet!”

“Emma, try yours,” Phil said. “That bitch really wipe out our Internet? Unbelievable.”

Emma dialed 9-1-1 on her phone, but just like on Phil’s, the call wouldn’t go through. She navigated to Google Chrome, and it gave her the dreaded “No Internet.” She tried navigating to the Wi-Fi tab.

“Oh, no,” Emma said with dread.

“What?” the two guys asked in unison, and she showed them her phone screen. 

“Wi-Fi access blocked by Countryside Firewall,” it read.

“Unbelievable, the old bitch really took our Wi-Fi,” Jason grumbled. “What the fuck are we gonna do? We’re really stuck here? I don’t get to go home to my wife and kids?”

“Wait, I know something else we can try,” Phil said. “Follow me.”

Back up in the cube farm, Emma, Jason, and Phil huddled around Phil’s desk while Candy sat alone at her desk, headset on and joyfully taking client calls. 

“Thank you so very much for calling Countryside Financial Services,” Candy chirped. “My name is Candy Stevens on a monitored and recorded line, and it will be my pleasure to assist you in meeting your financial goals today. With whom do I have the pleasure of conversing?”

“Ugh, just ignore her,” Phil grumbled. “Okay, let’s see if this works here.”

Emma and Jason watched with bated breath as Phil clicked the buttons on his phone system to make an outbound call: 9-1-1. He hit the dial button, and …

“We’re sorry, but you do not have authorization to make an outbound phone call at this time,” said a cheery female robot voice, and the system hung up on them. The three colleagues groaned in disbelief.

“You gotta be fuckin’ SHITTIN’ me,” Jason groaned, palming his face in his hands.

“Ain’t no goddamn way,” Phil said. “How could Jane even do that shit? She’s like 90 years old, and she was able to rig the system with this AI bullshit?”

“She’s a genius,” Jason said. “A sick, evil, geriatric genius.”

“You guys can try it too,” Phil said. “Doubt it’ll be any different.”

Emma and Jason went to their desks and tried calling the cops from their phone systems. Surely enough, the AI woman rejected their efforts as well.

“What else can we do?” Emma asked, trying her best to keep her composure.

“What about the windows?” Phil suggested, stroking his chin in thought.

“I already checked, they’re made of Plexiglass and totally taped shut,” Jason informed them. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell of us getting out. Plus, we’d fall to our deaths anyway.” 

“Damn, didn’t even realize that,” Emma said. In unison, she and Phil slouched down to the floor by their desks, staring at each other in disbelief and despair. Eventually, their eye rolls turned into slight smiles. They had to smile so they wouldn't cry.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not taking any damn phone calls,” Phil resolved. “If we’re gonna die in here, I’m not spending my final days getting verbally abused by some dickweeds. I’m gonna sit back, relax, and figure out how to get the fuck out of here.”

Emma and Jason nodded in agreement.

“Only problem is, with no service, there’s nothing to do here except listen to Candy yap,” Emma pointed out.

“You sure about that?” Phil asked, shooting her a slight wink. Emma tilted her head and smiled back, half amused and half confused.

“I’m so sorry you had that experience, ma’am, that was not our intention here at Countryside,” Candy babbled on the phone. “I’ll be more than happy to get a supervisor on the line for you. May I please place you on a brief one- to two-minute hold?”

As the day turned to night, Emma, Phil, and Jason started to fade and fell asleep on the office floor. Only Candy continued taking calls right up until the service center closed at 9 p.m., then stayed on her computer and scoured her online resources all night long. Eventually, her eyes glazed over and she started to doze off, but she fought to keep them open and continued staring a hole into the screen, almost burning her eyes clean out of their sockets. After all, she was determined to be the best employee she possibly could.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Ahhh, what the fuck?” Emma mumbled, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. She looked at her phone to check the time, the only thing the stupid piece of plastic was still good for. It was 3:23 a.m.

The incessant blaring noise, reminiscent of a wrong-answer sound effect on a game show, was the Countryside Financial building’s fire alarm. Soon, the obnoxious beeping was replaced by a brand-new female AI voice.

“Excuse me, your attention, please,” the robot lady declared. “Emergency Skype meeting. All Countryside employees report to Jane Reinhorn’s Skype room now.” 

Candy, who appeared to have finally passed out at her desk — face in keyboard — immediately jumped to attention and logged in to Skype, no questions asked.

“Oh, what in God’s name is happening now?” Jason complained. “Can’t we just fuckin’ sleep, for Christ’s sake?”

“Wow, real gamer hours right here,” Phil cracked. “So much for that beauty rest.”

“Yeah, some of us really need beauty rest, too,” Emma teased him.

“Now means now, people! Stop fucking around and get your asses in there!” the AI voice snapped, making all of them jump. They hadn't expected the bot to have that level of awareness or vocabulary. Not knowing what else to do, they logged into Jane’s Skype room.

“Good morning, everyone,” Jane said cheerfully. “How’s everyone’s morning going?” The Skype room was silent, everyone just staring at the crazy old bat in disbelief.

“Um, not too great, if I’m being quite honest,” Phil said. “How can I turn in my resignation? I want to quit. And then I think I’m going to be contacting an attorney.”

“I’m 100% with you, Phil, thanks for speaking up,” Jason agreed. “I need to get out of here, these working conditions are unacceptable.”

“Me … three,” Emma said timidly. “I think I want to quit too. I don't want to live here for the rest of my life.”

Candy sneered at all of them with a smug look of superiority on her face.

“Well, I’m very sorry to hear the three of you aren’t happy,” Jane said in a faux-sympathetic tone. “Unfortunately, you can’t resign. You all just started three weeks ago, and there is a clause in your contract saying you have to stay for at least eighteen months.”

Another pause.

“No, no, no, lady, that doesn’t work,” Phil said. “That’s only if we want to move to another internal job. Which … at this point, I think I’d rather move to Guantanamo Bay.”

“We are severely understaffed, Phillip,” Jane said condescendingly. “We need employees. We need dedicated professionals who are willing to go above and beyond to serve our clients’ needs. I have tried doing things the old-fashioned way, allowing people to just quit when they’re not happy. Unfortunately, that has not worked well for employee retention. So I have no choice but to keep all of you in this office.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Jason complained. “You lock us up in the office, you cut off our access to the outside world. This is kidnapping!"

"False imprisonment," Phil put in.

"Exactly!" Jason said. "How are you gonna make us keep helping those damn insufferable clients on the fucking phone? We could just stop doing shit for them for all we care! We WANT to get fired!”

Emma and Phil nodded in agreement, while Candy allowed a look of slight concern to creep onto her face.

“Now, Jason, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Jane said with a head shake. “I’ll be having food delivered to you all this morning, but you must know I am listening to every phone call very carefully. And if I observe anything short of exceptional service, you will not get to eat that day. Now, I know you have plenty of food stored away in that gut, but you wouldn’t want to waste away now. Would you, big boy?”

“Wow,” Jason said, throwing his hands up in astonishment. “Just wow. Fat-shaming me too. She’s evil. She’s a sick, evil woman.”

“Now, you’ll have to watch what you say about me here as well,” Jane said. “I haven’t liked some of the things I’ve been hearing. I have cameras and microphones everywhere. I’m always watching. And if I don’t like your behavior, you won’t like the level of sustenance you receive that day.”

Emma, Phil, and Jason simply stared at the screen in disbelief, even Candy now appearing to be in distress. Big Sister Jane was always watching. Not only were the call monitoring police out in full gear, but now the speech and seemingly the thought police as well, with access to the real police nowhere in sight. All they could do was go back on the phone with fake smiles in their voices and try to formulate a plan.

“Thank you for calling Countryside Financial. This is Emma Lee speaking. How can I help you today?”

“Hi Emily, uh … I have a retirement account with you guys. I was just recently talking to my accountant, and I need to figure out how much I got in there. It’s a whole thing, like for tax purposes and all that. I’m saving to buy a condo soon and also investing in some real estate, and I’m getting up there, so I’m not gonna be around forever, you know! Anyway, I won’t bore you with all the details, but how much I got in that account?”

Emma was rolling her eyes, having already grown bored a while ago. Already over this call, she forced herself to put a smile into her voice, lest she be starved to death.

“Sure, we can take a look here. Can we start with your first and last name, please?”

“My name is William Johnson,” he said in his Southern drawl.

“Thank you, William. And do you have an account number or social security number we can use to pull up that account?”

“I really have to give my social? Nah, I ain’t givin’ you that. How do I know you’re not a scam?”

"You called me, bro," was what she felt like saying.

“No problem, we can use the account number as well if you have it," she actually said.

“Ah shit, I think I have that around here somewhere. Lemme find it.” 

Emma listened to William fumble around for several moments, each one feeling more eternal than the last. Papers crinkled loudly and peoples’ voices droned on in the background. A couple of times, she heard some kind of machinery buzz at an ungodly decibel level. Finally, her client returned.

“Sorry about that, I’m just at work here. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“83754213."

“Thank you, William, one second.”

After the typical lengthy loading time, the ancient computer was able to pull up his account.

“And just a few quick verifying questions here. Can I get your date of birth and address, please?”

“Lady, why you gotta know all that — all right, fine. February 4, 1972.”

“Thank you. And your address, please?”

“186 State Route 61, Wetumpka, Alabama 36092. I’m a good ol’ boy,” he declared proudly.

“Thank you. And your phone number and email address?”

“My God, you people ask a lot of questions,” William complained. “(334)-555-0169.” “And your email, please?”

“bigredneckwillyboy@hotmail.com.”

“Thank you. And your security question, what was the name of your favorite tractor growing up?”

“Aw man, which one did I put down there?” William pondered. “Was it Jimmy Bob? Or Shuggy Boy? Or maybe Lady Birdie. Any of those?”

“No I’m sorry, it’s not any of those.”

The answer to the question on the screen was Jimmy Boy, not Jimmy Bob.

“I’m sorry, we were not able to verify your identity. I’m going to have to send you an account verification form.”

“Wait, what? Account verification form?” Big Redneck Willy was indignant. “I just gave you my name, blood type, mother’s maiden name, practically gave you my firstborn child. The fuck you doing this verification form shit for?”

“I’m sorry, I understand your frustration,” Emma said. “It’s just the process we have to follow here. I can send you the form, and you fill it out, create a new security question, and send it back with a photo ID. It’ll be three to five business days processing once we receive it. Would you like me to send it by mail, email, or fax?”

“Woman, fax? What are we, living in 1982?” William cried. “I just want to know my account balance, and I have to go through this whole song and dance? You people are giving me the runaround! I hope you have a bad day!”

Click.

Mercifully, the nightmare was over. Emma stared into her computer screen, part of her on the verge of tears and part of her wanting to laugh hysterically at her pain. There was no rest for the weary, however. Her break wasn’t for two more hours, and seventeen calls were waiting in the queue. William was certainly getting what he had hoped for.

“Thank you for calling Countryside Financial. Phil Delaney speaking. How can I assist you?”

“Hi Phil, this is Steven Phelps. I work as an electrical engineer for the city of Cullfield, Ohio, and I have some questions on my 457(b) account.”

“Definitely, Steven, we’ll get you pulled up here. Can we start with your account number or social?”

Phil was able to get the 36-year-old city employee through Countryside’s excruciating authentication process, as he answered the many personal questions with flying colors.

“Perfect, we have you fully authenticated. And what can I do for you?”

“Yeah, what kind of cryptocurrency do you guys offer and what does the decentralization of your blockchain look like?”

Phil had to stop himself from laughing through the phone.

“I’m sorry, we don’t offer crypto in our accounts here. It’s mostly a series of mutual funds you can choose from. Target date retirement funds and things of that nature.”

Steven didn’t try to stop himself from laughing through the phone. “Seriously, dude? That’s it? Mutual funds? I thought you guys were a multi-billion dollar corporation, and that’s all you can give me?”

“Yes sir, that is what we offer here. And I can’t speak for other companies, but I think you’ll find that’s the case for most employer-sponsored retirement plans across the country.”

Steven scoffed. “Buddy, are you getting smart with me? Wait, hold on, I have to take another call. Don’t you hang up!” 

Phil rolled his eyes and flopped back in his chair as Steven put him on hold to take the more important incoming call. When this happened, they weren’t allowed to hang up until they had been on hold for at least five minutes. The hold had reached the 4:55 mark and Phil was counting down the seconds when Steven finally returned.

“All right. Buddy, are you still there?”

“Yes sir, I am. What else can I do for you?”

“Uh, you’re going to tell me what kind of crypto you guys have, that’s what. You seem like a smart guy, Phil. You should know better. Tell the higher-ups there they need to offer sufficiently aggressive investment opportunities for their clients, or I’m going to be getting my attorney involved.”

Phil couldn’t help but chuckle this time. “I’m very sorry, it’s just a business decision Countryside has made to not offer cryptocurrency in our retirement accounts. I don’t have any control over it, and I have reached the extent of what I can help wi—”

“No, no, no, you haven’t reached anything of the sort, Phil. What you can help with is getting better at your job and learning your stuff, buddy. You’re messing around, you're laughing at me, and you’re not giving me the right answer. In fact, I read on cryptobros.com that all retirement plans in America are required by law to offer crypto with at least 100x potential.”

Not knowing what else to say, Phil had an idea. It was a Hail Mary, but he was so desperate that he decided it was worth a shot, consequences be damned.

“Sir, I am being held here in this office against my will. My colleagues and I have been locked in this office, and we’re not allowed to leave. We’re not able to call the cops, and we’re cut off from everyone except you guys, the clients. Is that what you want to hear? Can you help me, please? Can you call the police for us, Steven? I’m begging you.”

He held his breath in anticipation. Steven scoffed again.

“Get a load of this guy. So you’re a loose cannon, huh? Trying to throw your boss and your whole company under the bus because you don’t like your job? You wouldn’t last a day working for me, big guy. So thanks for nothing, and for wasting my time. I’m going to call back and hope I get somebody different, and I’m going to escalate this to your supervisor.” Click.

“Fuck you, Steven,” Phil whispered to himself, hoping Jane’s surveillance footage wouldn’t capture it. He figured he would already be going hungry for a while, but Jane wouldn’t starve him to death. She wouldn’t risk being charged with murder, right? Right?

The next day, as a punishment for his transgressions, Jane denied Phil his meager daily food ration.

“Thank you for calling Countryside Financial. This is Jason Monasterio speaking. How can I help you today?”

“Hello, Jason. This is Kathryn Fobkowski, and I’m a teacher with the Sarasota Cove, Florida city school district. We just need to get this money out of this account. We’ve been trying to pull this money out for months now, and you people keep denying it, and quite honestly, it’s making me sick. I’m really thinking about pulling all my money out and going somewhere else.”

“Sure, I’m sorry to hear that and we’ll take a look here, Kathryn. How’s your day going?”

“Fine.”

“Wonderful. Can we start with the account number or social security number, please?”

When Jason pulled up the account, the name on it read “Edward Fobkowski.”

“And ma’am, is this account for you or for somebody else?”

“Ugh, every time we have to go through this. It’s my husband’s account, I’m just helping him out. I should be on the account.”

“Well, I can’t disclose those details, but I’m not seeing an account where you have a power of attorney. Is your husband available by chance?”

Kathryn sighed. “He’s not exactly in the best mood, but I’ll try to see if he’s awake. Hold on.”

She put the phone down. “ED!”

“WHAT?!”

“It’s Countryside. They want to talk to you.”

Ed sighed and picked up the phone. “Yeah, what do you want?”

“Hi, this is Jason Monasterio with Countryside Financial on a monitored and recorded line. Can I confirm your first and last name, please?”

“Well, I don’t want to be recorded, sir.”

“I’m sorry, sir, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to disclose that to you.”

“All right, fine. My name is Edward Fobkowski.”

Somewhat painfully, Jason was able to get the 57-year-old high school teacher through authentication.

“Is that it?” Ed demanded. “Can I give it back to my wife now? She handles all of the financial junk.”

“Yes, as long as I have your permission, you can put her on.”

“Yes?” Kathryn said. “So as I was saying, we need this money right now. Hurricane D’Brickashaw just hit us and we have some serious home repairs to make. Also, my father is dying of cancer and we need help with his medical bills. It’s been a nightmare. We’re just really struggling, getting slammed with everything you can imagine. I’ve sent in the form … I don’t know how many times, but they keep sending it back to me and we are just at our wit’s end. They said it was NIGO, whatever the heck that means. I just need someone to take charge and get this resolved for me.”

“Right, that would mean ‘not in good order,’ ma’am. I’m sorry to hear everything you’re going through there, and I really hope we can help make everything better for you. Let me check here.”

When Jason checked in the workflow imaging system for the form, he saw that it was marked NIGO with three separate notes from the back-office processing team. They read:

1. Fax is blurry. Needs to be sent more clearly, we cannot make out most of the words.

2. Invoices for home repairs are not specific. We need to see the charges of each individual repair that was made to the structure of the home, not a general invoice of all the work that was done.

3. Cancer patient does not appear to be a direct relative of the client. Medical bills for in-laws of a client are not covered in the Sarasota Cove 457(b) plan unforeseeable emergency withdrawal guidelines.

For over an hour, Jason tried to reason with Kathryn as she became increasingly irate with Countryside’s reasons for the denial. She refused to let him go, but he couldn’t hang up the call, lest he risk a lack of sustenance the next day. By the end of their repetitive, circular, torturous conversation, Kathryn was in tears having a full-on emotional breakdown while Jason questioned whether he still had the will to live, the phrase “IT’S MY MONEY” burned into his memory bank for all eternity.

“Thank you so very much for calling Countryside Financial Services. My name is Candy Stevens on a monitored and recorded line, and it will be my pleasure to assist you in meeting your financial goals today. With whom do I have the pleasure of conversing?”

“My name is Benjamin Boles. Account number 91191191. Date of birth, 8/19/1952. Address, 1741 Lakewood Drive, Westchester County, New York 10569. Phone number, (914)-555-0101. Email address, benjaminbolesmoney@gmail.com. My favorite country club is the Westchester Aristocracy. I would like to know my unit value for each mutual fund, number of units, and total value, in that order, please.”

Candy couldn’t resist looking at the history of previous calls on Benjamin’s profile. It was the fifth time he had called that day. In fact, he had been consistently calling at least five times a day for as far back as the call log would go.

“Certainly, Mr. Boles, I would be most pleased to assist you and we have you fully authenticated here. In the Flimaxton Total Value Fund, you have a unit value of 191.23, 123.456 units, and a total value of $23,608.50. In the 2030 Target Date Retirement Fund, you have a unit value of 154.85, 255.124 units, and a total value of $39,505.95. In the McGilroy International Equity Fund … “ 

Candy’s voice continued to chirp on and on as she gave Benjamin the required information. When she finished, she held her breath and prayed everything was correct. After a long pause, the client finally spoke in his deep, measured voice, with a slight New York accent.

“Very good. I would like to make a withdrawal from my account. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely, sir!” Candy said too enthusiastically.

“I would like to withdraw $5,323.59 from my account. Out of that, I would like $1,751.45 to come from the Flimaxton Total Value Fund, $2,335.58 to come from the 2030 Target Date Retirement Fund, and $1,236.56 to come from the McGilroy International Equity Fund. Now, honey, is that something you can do for me?”

“Yes, Mr. Boles, I would be very happy to help!” Candy crowed.

She prepared the distribution on the 2005-style spreadsheet that served as the template for over-the-phone withdrawals, making sure to get every detail correct. Having spoken to Mr. Boles before, she knew he was a stickler.

“All right, sir! I’ll read that back to you to confirm. Today, March 19, at 2:19 p.m. Eastern Time, we will be placing an over-the-phone distribution for $5,323.59. We will be selling $1,751.45 of the Flimaxton Total Value Fund, $2,335.58 of the 2030 Target Date Retirement Fund, and $1,236.56 of the McGilroy International Equity Fund. Those funds will be going to the Obsidian Bank checking account ending in 8689. Does that all sound correct and do I have your permission to submit this transaction for you today?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect! I just submitted that for you. The back office team will process it, and you will be seeing those funds show up within three to five business days. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Boles?”

“Yes. Who are my beneficiaries on the account?”

“Of course! Let me pull that up for you here, one second.” She navigated to the beneficiaries tab of his profile. 

“As your primary beneficiary, you have Rosalind B. Boles at 100 percent. As your contingent beneficiaries, you have Roland D. Boles at 21 percent, Marla G. Boles at 28 percent, Kylee H. Boles at 19 percent, and Ivan W. Boles at 32 percent.”

She pronounced “Ivan” as “Ee-vahn.”

“The name’s IVAN!” Boles yelled, pronouncing it as “Eye-van.” “IVAN! DO YOU HEAR ME, LITTLE GIRL? You give me all of the correct information, do everything perfectly, and then you go and butcher my wonderful son’s name. I want your supervisor to know about this. Get me a supervisor. Now.”

For the first time in all her days on the phone, Candy was lost for words. She stared at the screen in disbelief, eyes bugging out as she panted for breath. In all the times she had spoken to Mr. Boles, this was the first time he had asked her for the beneficiaries.

"Hello?"

For all the grief her colleagues had been going through, Candy had never really been reprimanded before. Getting every detail correct on every call was all that mattered to her. It was EVERYTHING. If she couldn’t provide value to her company as an exemplary call center employee, what was the point of even being alive? 

“DID YOU HEAR ME, SWEETIE?! I SAID GET A SUPERVISOR ON THE LINE! YOU’RE IN BIG TROUBLE! ARE YOU DEAF?!”

Benjamin’s words rang in Candy’s ears, and after all she had been through and suppressed over the last few months, something inside her finally snapped.

“NO, I’M NOT GOING TO GET YOU A SUPERVISOR!” she cried, suddenly bursting into hysterical tears as Emma, Phil, and Jason looked over in bewilderment. “My colleagues and I have been stuck here for days in this godforsaken call center, and we’re not allowed to leave! We’re being deprived of food, we’re being deprived of sleep, we can’t even call the cops! I did everything perfectly. I always do everything perfectly, and still you treat me like worthless garbage! I don’t ever want to talk to you again! Goodbye!” 

Candy clicked the red phone button on the screen to end the call, something they were forbidden from doing. She collapsed at her desk face down, sobbing violently. Her coworkers came over to her.

“Yo, Candy, that was awesome!” Phil cried, patting her on the back. “I’m so proud of you, standing up to that fuckin’ doofus like that!”

“Seriously, Candy, I’m impressed,” Emma said. “I wouldn’t be able to do what you just did, that took courage.”

“That took courage, and that took BALLS!” Jason declared. “Sure, she may not feed you tomorrow. But you took a stand for what you believe in! What we all believe in! Who knew you had it in you?”

“You can have some of my bread and water tomorrow, Candy,” Emma said. “Really. I think we’ll all be willing to help you out after that.”

The others nodded in agreement.

After being hung up on, Benjamin Boles sat at his kitchen table by the house phone in his bathrobe, stewing with rage as he skimmed the financial section of The New York Times. Having long since retired from his job as the Westchester County Commissioner of Finance, he didn’t have much better to do with his time than call to check on his retirement account several times a day. Now, though, he was fed up. He didn’t want to call back and deal with another one of those snot-nosed young imbeciles. How could they force him to keep talking to some little brats straight out of college with no financial experience? They were probably making minimum wage. He deserved better service than that for HIS MONEY. He was BETTER than that. Now that one of the little shits had shown her true colors, he couldn’t just call back and deal with the next one. No. He had to take action.

Benjamin retreated to his computer room and logged into his old desktop PC, where he pulled up the website downwithcountrysidecallcenter.com. This was a support group he frequented, where participants in the Countryside Financial retirement plans across the nation met to commiserate and complain about their shared bad experiences with the call-center reps. None of them liked these kids and their snarky attitudes, and they all wanted to do something about it. He messaged a few of his closest contacts on the site, and they began formulating a plan.

“Now, I really don’t like some of the patterns I’ve been seeing lately in our calls,” Jane Reinhorn said to her underlings in her creepy, off-kilter monotone voice as they slouched at their desks, staring blankly into their Skype cameras. The food and sleep deprivation was taking its toll, and they were all struggling to find the energy they needed.

“Phil, your ACW yesterday was well over our goal of a thirty-second average. You were at forty-two. And Emma, you need to work on your average handle time. You were almost at five minutes. We need to get that down to three. Jason, you had a call yesterday where you just said ‘Countryside,’ you didn’t say ‘Countryside Financial.’ You people have really been dropping the ball.” 

Jane was oddly lethargic herself as she dished out the criticism. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said, suppressing his impulse to say “Fuck you, bitch.” Emma and Phil just kept staring at the screen.

“But the one I really want to talk to is Candy,” Jane continued. “Now Candy, you are normally so good, but you had a disastrous call yesterday where you just lost your temper. And what is this I hear about you telling the clients you are being held in captivity? Phil, I heard you doing it too. That is not information we are allowed to disclose over the phone. You two should be ashamed of yourselves, and I’m marking you down on those calls. Quality alerts for both of you.”

Desperate for food and survival, Phil and Candy could only nod meekly in agreement. At least she hadn't taken away their meals for the next day yet. Right at this moment, they heard a commotion outside the window. It got louder and louder, turning into all-out yelling as the ruckus drew closer to them. Despite Jane’s pleas for them to stay, the four of them got up from their seats to investigate. When they looked out the window, they couldn’t believe what they saw.

“Come on out here, you fuckin’ hooligan punks! Open up!”

“We’ll wait out here all day if you have to!”

“Give us your manager! We need a fucking manager right now!”

The pounding on the front door of the Countryside Financial building was relentless. Two stories below the call center office, an angry mob of six people had formed, five of which were disgruntled retirement plan customers. The clients were Benjamin Boles, William Johnson, Steven Phelps, Kathryn Fobkowski, and Joseph Troglione. Faces red, neck veins popping with rage, and spittle flying from their mouths, each client carried a five-foot-long shiny silver pitchfork and a torch lit with a bright orange flame. As the abused employees peered out the window in astonishment and fear, the client mob didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. 

To Emma’s horror, a mostly bald, sloppily-dressed middle-aged man looked up at them and made direct eye contact with her. She instantly knew this man was her archrival, William Johnson. He pointed a finger up toward the second floor.

“That’s them! They’re up there!” Big Redneck Willy cried in his Southern drawl. “Yeah, we see you, little pricks! Don’t think you can hide! We’re coming for you. Let’s get ‘em!” Emma ducked beneath the window in fear. William and the rest of the mob collectively let out a borderline inhuman roar as they all rammed their weight against the locked Plexiglass front door, doing everything they could to smash it open.

“Ohmygod, what are we gonna doooo?!” Candy cried in a panic, pacing around the office with her hands on her head. “If they damage our property, Jane’s gonna kill us!”

“If they don’t kill us first,” Jason pointed out.

“Candy, you’re seriously thinking about the fucking property right now?” Phil asked in disbelief. “Fuck the property. This could be our ticket out of here!”

“Yeah, except for the whole, you know, pitchforks and torches thing!” Emma said sarcastically. “We get out of this office, and we end up six feet under as soon as we step out there.”

“No, no, no, I know what to do,” Phil said. “I have a plan, I know how to handle these people.”

“Uh, I think I know what we need to do too,” Emma replied. She leaned over and whispered her plan into Phil’s ear.

“Whatever she’s saying, I’m sure it’s very reasonable,” Jason said, wringing a hand indifferently as he slumped to the ground in defeat.

“No, Em, we don’t need to do that!” Phil insisted. “That takes too much time and effort. We gotta take things into our own hands.”

He leaned back and whispered his plan to Emma.

“Phil, they have pitchforks and fucking torches!” Emma cried. “How the hell are we gonna do that? Plus, we’re outnumbered.”

“Yeah, by two, and they’re fucking geriatric!” Phil pointed out. “Average age is a pretty big fuckin’ advantage on our side. I know your plan sounds all reasonable and shit. I like you and trust you as a coworker and a friend. But right now, I think we have to go for it and take the bull by the horns.”

“Ohmygod, you guys, let’s make up our mind alreadyy,” Candy whined as she continued to freak out. “We have to just do something, pleeease.”

Emma and Phil looked each other in the eyes with a slight playful smile. They were the only ones taking charge of the situation, and they liked that about each other. 

“Okay, how about this, let’s flip a coin,” Emma said. 

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Jason groaned. “You guys aren’t even keeping us in the loop, and now this? Let’s hurry it up, they’re about to come up here and kill us!”

“No, hear me out,” Emma said. “Heads, we follow my plan. Tails, we follow Phil’s plan.”

“Fuck it, let’s do it,” Phil said with a wink. He fished a spare quarter out of his pocket and without skipping a beat, he flipped it up into the air.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ENDING:

 If you want the group to follow Emma’s plan and take the practical, reasonable approach, click here.

If you want them to follow Phil’s plan and take a walk on the wild side, click here.