Beep is the worst sound on the earth.
Beep is a cotton-less Q-tip drilled into my ear,
a starter pistol popping my hangover REM sleep.
"Thank you for calling Vetran — how can I help you?" my ear zings.
She needs gas, I got gas, I got gas up the
vast, safe, wondrous pipeline infrastructure that is,
Vetran Energy Delivery.
I type, I talk, I window surf, she pulls my strings, I answer.
My fingers run a hundred hundred meter dashes a day,
my lips, like a million inch-worm push-ups on a horizontal mirror,
my mind smokes from ear to ear to ear.
My courtesy is endless, my patience has no precedence,
and I love, love, love my customer in a pleasant, pithy way.
I make her laugh,"I have a photographic memory,
but I keep leaving the lens cap on”
I make her smile,"I can offer you a rebate on that water heater",
I make her cry,
"No, we can't turn on your gas today
(and yes, your baby will die because of it)".
I'm her sunshine super slave while I tap my foot like a puppy-dream paw,
bang my head on my desk,
spill my soda on my mouse,
wave my hands like I'm landing a plane,
crawl under my desk for my glass lens,
my exploding pen, that penny,
my precious Dorito, my —
my headset's unplugged!
“No, no Ma'am, take your time” I drip sweetly into my honeycomb mike,
while mouthing “Blah, blah, blah, blah”,
and placing a stuffed octopus on my head.
Across the desk, Marilyn is having a cardiac event, and I smile,
I smile at my phone, my friends, the paramedics,
the goofy-bright rainbow walls.
We are all so very, very happy here in customer service land,
except for Marilyn.
My customers think I am their god, and I think they are my children,
and they want what they want, and they want it now!
“Thank you for calling Vetran, you have a nice day,”
and I deflate, pith off.
I hate being so nice.
Marilyn was nice.
200,000 times more and I retire (Beep).