From the other side of my station, Precious' soft voice lingers.
"Oh, really? That's wonderful! You're such a nice guy, Michael. I like you. By the way, do you happen to own other car as well? No? Oh, I see. It's all right, Michael. It's perfectly all right. Now, I just want to verify that I'm speaking with Michael Jackson, right?"
No. Wrong number.
"You are Michael Jackson, right?"
No. He's already dead. Hang up!
"Wonderful, Michael. Perfect! I'll have our agent call you back with the lowest possible rate. They'll contact you back either by automated dialer, text message, or pre-recorded message. And-"
Hang up.
"-don't worry, Michael. Your consent to receive calls about insurance is not required to purchase good or services. Okay, Michael?"
No. Hang up. No. Hang up. NO! HANG UP!
"Michael?"
Hang up! Hang up! Hang up! Hang up! Hang up! Hang up!
"Michael, are you still in there? Hello?"
Hang up! Hang up! Hang-
"Fantastic! Expect a call later today or tomorrow. Thank you for your time and have a great day! May God and all the saints in Heaven bless you and your family, Michael! Bye!"
"One sale from Precious! Good job, Precious! Way to go!"
A round of applause. Someone whistles.
From the other end of my line, the phone keeps ringing forever and ever.
"Thanks, Helga."
"You're welcome, Precious. Expect your one hundred pesos later at lunch break, okay?"
"Noted, Helga."
"Make nine more sales and you will receive an additional five-hundred pesos straight from my pocket. And also three mouth-watering Hershey chocolate bars imported all the way from New Zealand. It's a deal, girl."
"Piece of cake! I'll make it nineteen sales."
"Can you? Wow! Excellent! That's what I like on you, Precious. Dang! I really like your attitude. Keep it up, girl. You're doing great. You're really on fire!"
"I know."
My left hand balls into fist. The knuckles on my right one is already pallid from gripping the mouse so tightly I can almost break it if I want to.
Get a grip, Fyodor!
The screen gets blurry. The whole monitor. The letters and colors mix together, forming an incoherent jumble of abstract images and figures.
"Guys, do I only have one agent here? Push! Be ashamed of Precious! You are all getting paid just like her!"
"It's all right, Helga. They're also trying to set an appointment too. We're working as a team, after all. I can save– Oh, hi, Sean! This is Precious calling from Auto Care-"
Precious. Precious. Precious. Always that good-for-nothing Precious. What kind of name is Precious, anyway? Stupid name. And why is it that she's not using a phonename just like the rest of us? Unfair!
Stupid girl. So what if tonight happens to be her second day of dialing for Auto Insurance and she already set thirty appointment? So what? Is she supposed to be a top agent now? The apple of Helga's eyes? The top player of the game? Really? For all we know, Precious might be setting invalid appointment and Helga doesn't even know about it because she's as stupid as her.
Most agents that had worked in here do stuff like that. They wanted to impress Helga but couldn't think of a better way to do it than to resort in flat-out cheating that involves setting invalid appointment. Never did I resort to any of that stuff, nor am I planning to do so in the future. I can cheat. I can do it, but I won't.
But this Precious! She's an obvious cheater. A great liar. It's humanly impossible to make those stupendous number of sales in just a matter of fifteen hours of dialing! No way!
Stupid girl! Stupid newcomer! Stupid fool! Cheater! Scammer! Liar! She's doing something nasty in the calls. I'm pretty sure about that. She's doing something that can make those people buy the insurance she's offering them even though they're not interested nor even qualified to do so. Perhaps Precious is a witch? An ugly witch disguising as a pretty girl who has the ability to cast mind-controlling dark spell to anyone she wants to manipulate and dominate, even those people living half a globe away. Precious is a witch oh how I hate witches they don't deserve to live they must die all witches must die we shall crash them one by one dudurugin natin sila-
"Who the hell is this!"
A guttural sound escapes my trembling lips. The back of my left hand hits the mug, sending it crashing down the floor. If my defected glands have the capacity to produce bodily liquid as they are supposed to do, I would have been drenched with cold sweat by now. Would have been the first time, too.
"Who the hell are you!" The man's husky voice booms in my ear like pellets, sending shards of shrapnel in the hollow of my skull and tearing every veins around my ears.
"Sir-"
"Damn you!" The air of satisfaction is very evident in Ray of Michigan's curse. He is a great curser, and seemingly doing it all his miserable life. And cursing at someone he doesn't even know, let alone, at a telemarketer over the phone, will not make any difference for the likes of Ray of Michigan. They thrive on it.
I cover my mouthpiece with my palm.
"Damn you too, sir. Fuck you. Have a nice day, you son of a bitch. 'Bye."
"Why, you-"
Pushing the HANG UP button has never been so satisfying. Hanging up on some dickheads and cutting them off in their yappings are like slamming the door in their goddamned faces.
If Helga heard my last call–
The other end of the line starts ringing.
What happened? Why did I fail to contain my anger?
I click the HANG UP button and the ANSWERING MACHINE.
The line starts ringing again: Monotonous sound that I already heard plenty of times I can even hear it in my dreams.
This is the first time that I outwardly curse an irate customer without muting the mouthpiece.
There's always a first time, Fyodor.
"At the tone, please leave a message or..."
Hang up. Answering machine.
And why is it that I feel like I just had thrown some deeply unpleasant words to someone?
Against Precious?
"Hello?" A wary voice of a woman.
"Hi, Pamela. My name is Michael. I'm calling to let you know that we could help you get the best possible rate for your auto insurance."
Yes. Against Precious. She managed to set an appointment tonight. Helga is so proud of her.
So what?
"Let it go. Let it go. Can't hold it back anymore. Let it go. Let it–"
"And this call is being recorded for quality assurance, Pamela."
Silence.
"You still drive the 2017 Chevrolet Impala, right, Pamela?"
"I–I'm truly sorry, mister, but I–I can't take this call."
Pamela drops the call.
Why is it that I feel like a very bad person?