The Caller
By that time of the day, the phone more so shrilled rather than rang. The muted, sterile noise that screamed out of it pierced my ears at a mosquito level annoyance.
“Anonymous” it read on the caller ID and I answered with the practiced greeting just like I would for or any other call, my own voice raising an octave, making my skin crawl.
He sounded like any average middle aged white man from Texas who was trying too hard to be charming as he told me to “get ready for some entertainment.”
I politely listened to him tell his story about why he was coming into town (because that’s what you’re supposed to do) while impatiently waiting for him to stop talking.
“Now you see I’m coming in for my fraternity, you know what a fraternity is, don’t you, Vanessa?”
When I start to get annoyed, I smile to myself in a way that only I would know as patronizingly. My lips stick together and my eyebrows slightly furrow while my head cocks to one side, as if I were a dog hearing a sound from outside its home.
It happens on instinct, not by habit.
“Sure yes, I never frequented them, but I know what they are.” I answered somewhat condescendingly, as the other phone began to ring and my detest for frats became even more apparent.
“Stay with me here Vanessa, I’m about to get to my point. I’m hoping you can help me, You see, I’m doing something frats call initiation and I need to get 5000 women to [insert something extremely vile, repulsive, and horrible] with their tampon.”
The blood drained from my face and I could literally feel my body surge with disgust as I calmly placed the phone down onto the receiver.
There’s this type of buzz that runs through your veins when you have an out of body experience. It feels like there’s an electric current right below the surface of your skin and if you don’t physically move, you’ll float away. I’ve had this experience multiple times in my life before, the first that I can remember being when I was diagnosed with cancer at 12. It’s as if I’m watching my body go through the motions from someplace else while my brain is absent from the picture.
Flashback to past trauma.
Flashback to disassociation.
Flashback to avoidance.
Almost immediately the phone rang again, with anonymous popping up on the screen, so I quickly picked it up and slammed it down, ending the call before it started, trying to gather my thoughts as how to handle the situation.
With all the true-crime podcasts I’ve listened to and episodes of SNAPPED I’ve watched, I quickly came to the realization that this wasn’t this guy’s first rodeo.
There’s a term for this, it’s called Scatologia. It’s when a person gets aroused by obscene language, especially from phone calls to strangers.
On the third try, I picked up again, knowing it would be him.
“Is this the person I was just talking to?” the voice on the other end asked in the same, annoying tone from before.
“Sir, I will not tolerate being spoken to in that language and if you call this facility one more time, I will call the cops and make sure they find you.”
Words tumbled from my mouth as I tried to remain “calm” and stay professional as he continued to question me about my own response to his obscenities, talking over me, making my blood boiling. The strangest part was that when he questioned his language with the typical “what disrespectful language?”, I found myself actually questioning myself.
Flashback to prank calls.
Flashback to just joking.
Flashback to being a little weird.
I mean, he didn’t threaten me or put my safety in jeopardy, maybe I was overreacting. Maybe he was just trying to find someone to talk to, maybe he really did need a room, maybe he had some type of Tourettes or something, maybe I should be nice, maybe….
“Well then aren’t you a Brenda you fucking piece of shit!” He yelled into the receiver, his fake, signature tone finally fading away.
Almost instinctually I yelled, “OH MY GOD, THANK YOU SIR!” slamming my hands down onto the desk and snapping out of my moment of self-doubt, the patronizing smile back on my face as the dial tone filled my ears.
Hanging up, I started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation while recognizing that this probably wouldn’t be the last time something like this happens if I’m going to continue to answers phone everyday.
Or maybe he really was pledging for a fraternity - who knows.
Even after I’d clocked out and went through the rest of my day, every time I thought about the situation, I couldn’t help but full face laugh about it.
As I retold the story, everyone’s reaction was different.
“YOU’RE NOT A PIECE OF SHIT!” My best friend replied in capital letters after I rapid fire texted told her the story.
“What the fuck is wrong with people?” My husband shook his head while we moved through the motions of walking our pups at the end of the day.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” My therapist friend empathized as we finished our warm up at the gym.
Working in customer care resembles one big, social experiment. I see every walk of life you could imagine come through the doors, from people just trying to make it through another day, to B-list ‘famous’ bands — and this situation was just a variable in the process.
File this under: shit I didn’t realize I’d have to deal with working at a hotel.