It’s been about a year since I started at this call centre.
Okay, fine – I use the term ‘Call centre’ lightly. When I first applied for the job, I didn’t realise it would be one of those places that scam vulnerable people, taking their credit card details and whatnot. Had I realised, I wouldn’t have applied. But, I badly needed the money. With hospital bills coming out my ears, I couldn’t afford to leave this job. I’d been applying for other employment for months, ever since I realised this whole company was used to scam people, but I’ve only just managed to find new work. So, yes, I’m a scammer. I’m scum. And for that, I am sorry. But I’m almost done, my conscious almost clear.
I start my last shift at the call centre tonight.
-
I sit at my desk and put on my headset for the final time before turning my small computer screen on with a click. ‘Hello Aaron’ my computer flashes.
I suppose I’ll quickly explain the scam; we have pop-ups, malware, that appear when an unsuspecting computer user presses the wrong link. The malware informs them that they need to phone the stated number because their bank details have been compromised. So, they phone the number and connect through to us. We ask them to ‘confirm’ their bank details, and then we take them. Horrible, right?
My eyes flicker around the room, scanning the hordes of people, the hordes of scum, that are crammed into this space, partition to partition. There is a constant buzz, as people talk into their headsets fast, desperately trying to pry money away from the poor souls that have worked so hard to earn it. As I look around the room, I stare once again at the sign that looms over the room, plastered on every wall in this building. I don’t understand the sign, I never have, it doesn’t really make sense.
It simply reads;
‘WARNING: DO NOT ANSWER CALLS FROM 777728266’
They’re obsessed with that number in this place.
777728266.
When I joined, all I was told, all that was drilled into me, was not to answer ANY calls from that number. I’ve never received a call from any number resembling that; I don’t even think it’s a real number. Whenever I’ve asked those who have worked here for a long time what it means, they do not appear to know either – all they say is that they were told not to answer if it pops up, although I’ve never heard anyone say they’ve seen it.
My first call of the night pops up onto my screen with a blip.
0141**309.*
“Hello”, I put on my customer voice, “You’ve reached the helpline team. How may I be of assistance today?”
“Hello”, the voice of an old woman gently flows through the phone, “I think my bank details are being leaked. I’m hoping you can help me as I’m very worried.”
My eyes dart to my script before me, “Yes of course I can help you. Can I please have your full name?”
“Yes, oh thank god,” she sighs, “Elizabeth Marie Porter”.
“Thank you Ms. Porter”, I say, “and now your date of birth?”
“Of course! It’s the 16th of March, 1941”.
Shit, this woman is 82 years old. I can’t do this to her, she won’t have much. And – and I’m leaving soon, anyway. Fuck this, I’m not going to do this anymore.
“Ma’am”, I cough before lowering my voice so those around me don’t hear, “Ma’am, your bank details are absolutely fine. There is absolutely no issue at all, it’s been a mistake.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, clearly surprised.
“Yes”, I say, “I’m sure. You enjoy your day now”.
I hang the phone up. The damage I’ve done in the past won’t ever be repaired, not fully, but I can start to try to make amends for my sins.
A new number pops up on my screen. Feeling good about myself, my heart is racing so fast after what I’d just done, that I almost don’t notice what number it is, almost answering it straight away.
777728266.
It’s – it’s the number.
The phone rings once, echoing through my headset. Twice.
It’s the number! My eyes dart to the big warning sign on the wall and back again. It’s definitely the same number!
Fuck this place. I’m going to answer it. Maybe it’s the police or something, or maybe it’ll give THIS place a virus. I click answer.
“H-hello?” I say, a slight quiver in my voice.
There is silence over the phoneline. I think I hear a shallow breath on the other side.
“Hello?” I say again, “who is this?”
“Hello,” the voice of a child, a young boy perhaps, “you answered the phone! You finally answered the phone!”
The boy laughs and sounds as if he is jumping up and down in joy.
“I did”, I say, my voice now quieter, “who is this?”
“I’m so happy you answered the phone,” he says, but as he speaks, his voice begins to deepen, “now, we can all play together. Together. Together.”
“Who is this?”
His voice grows deeper, raspier.
“Together. Together. Together. Together. Together.”
“Answer me”, I say, my voice now trembles.
“Together, Aaron.”
I throw my headset off and close the call. What the fuck?! How does he know my name?
I feel uneasy, my vision slightly blurry. I look back to my computer screen, blinking tears from my eyes. I stand and momentarily look over the partitions to the other employees around me – they’re still each on their phones, hundreds of them, talking away to their ‘customers’. They’re none the wiser.
I bury my head into my arms for a moment and run my hands through my hair. Who was that person, and how did they know my name?
I start to feel sick so I stand up and walk to the nearby bathroom. My legs wobble with every step as I pass the other workers, feeling sicker and sicker, I have to barge past someone by the bathroom door to make it in time. As soon as I reach a toilet, I fall to my knees and start to vomit.
I vomit for a matter of minutes. I think someone asks me if I’m okay, but I don’t reply. Strangely, the sensation of vomiting feels good – as if I’m cleansing and releasing the evil from my body, but also my mind when I leave this place.
I leave the bathroom and return to my desk. Everything is blurry now, it is as if I am drunk, but I do not care, for I do not need to see the worthless scum around me.
I sit down, and my ears tune in to the person who sits one partition away from me, Jane.
“So, just to confirm your bank details,” she starts, “bank account ending in 922? Great! And sort code is ending in 09? Perfect! Now, just grab the fork to your side and shove it into your neck. Very good, yes! Just like that! Twist it, yes, YES that’s it! Good job Mrs. Garrett. Now go and do the same to the rest of your family!”
From the other side of the phone, I hear the gurgled screams of who I assume is Mrs. Garrett as Jane laughs through the phone.
I tune in to listen to John, who sits on the other side of me.
“That’s correct Mr. Jameson. You’re going to go and run into traffic now. That’ll fix your bank account issues. Go on, run. Run. Run. Run. OH. YES. Like that. Oh yes.”
I stand and look to John, who is now laughing through the phone with a huge smile on his face. He starts to jump up and down with joy, waving his hands around like a child. I look around the room, and realise everyone in this place is saying these types of things over the phone.
“Now put your hand in the blender, Mr. Alex”.
“Yes, Miss. McShane, hold your grandmother down. Under the water - that’s right”.
“You have to make sure the water is boiling before you drink it, Mr. Donoghue. There you go! Keep on drinking, keep on drinking! If it’s leaking through your stomach that means it’s working!”
Soon, the room is filled with laughter.
Everyone around me laughs into their headset, maniacal smiles on their faces as they jump up and down in joy.
Then, still laughing, still smiling, they start to do things to themselves.
Some run out of windows, crashing through them and falling fifteen floors below.
Some wrap the cords of their phone around their necks, pulling tight until they turn purple.
Some stab their pens into their eyes, ferociously piercing them in a manner of extreme violence.
And all whilst smiling. All whilst laughing.
I stare in horror, but I also stare in joy.
I did this; I’m killing the scum.
Part of me wants to be involved – no, ALL of me wants to be involved.
I pick up the phone and call back the woman from earlier, Ms. Porter.
“Hello?” she answers, the same soft voice as before.
“Yes!” I exclaim, “Ms. Porter! There actually IS a problem with your bank account.”
“Oh?” she asks, clearly worried once more, “oh dear – what can I do to fix this?”
“You see that toaster to your left?” I ask her, unsure how I know there is a toaster beside her, but I know there is, “grab a knife and shove it right in there. Nice and deep!”
The sound of her body violently jerking as the current flows through her brings me great joy.
I vomit into my hands and start to laugh, start to smile, and jump up and down in joy.
-
Soon, silence surrounds me. The only noise is my laughter.
Everyone around me is dead; blood covers the room, flesh hangs from the walls.
I repeatedly thrust my pen into my leg, over and over, obsessively trying to fill in all the gaps.
The sound of sirens soon ring through the room as I continue to laugh.
They won’t believe me, I know they won’t.
But I’ll be sure to make sure I phone them when they go home.
I vomit once more.
I’ll phone them when they’re asleep.
I’ll phone them when they’re awake.
I’ll phone them.
I’ll phone you too. Whoever is reading this, I will phone you.
Pick up the phone.
If you see 777728266,