This story came from an old running joke between Jared Mehl and myself.
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Dedication

The call centre headset squealed before cutting out. It always did that when hung up.

Jim stood up in the greenish florescent lighting of his cubicled office and stretched, arms wide, behind his chair.

“Hard work, saving lives?” Claire said from the next cubicle.

“Nah, have you seen my numbers? I’m like a superhero.” Jim finished his stretching and rested his hands on the back of his cheap office chair. “I figure I’m averaging six calls an hour.”

“Jim, I think this is one area where quality outweighs quantity.”

“And that’s why,” he pointed, “I’m junior assistant shift leader, and you’re just a standard rep.”

“Junior assistant shift leader to the rescue!” Claire said with a smile.

Jim made a motion like he was ripping open his shirt to reveal a superhero logo. Then he straightened. “A cubicle is way better than a phone booth anyway. And let’s not forget. We’re minimum wage superheroes. What’s-his-face was pro bono.”

Claire shook her head and turned back to her desk, reading over the management approved script.

A voice came over the building intercom, “Will security please come to reception? Security to reception, thank you.”

“Seriously Claire, I think you try too hard. You can’t help everyone. And you need to stick to the script. That’s why your calls are so long. You improvise.  Long calls means less calls per hour, which means lower scores.”

She looked up and rolled her eyes where Jim could see. “No, it’s called listening. You should try it sometime.”

The intercom again, “Security to reception, repeat, will security report immediately to reception.”

Jim sat in the cheap office chair and lifted his small headset off the stand, settling it over his ear. He rubbed his lower back, then leaned forward to take another call.

The door to their office burst open and banged against the wall stopper. The inset glass shattered. Screams like headphone feedback filled the office, and Jim spun in his cheap chair to see a bearded stranger with an upturned pistol in hand.

Jim eardrums filled with pain as the man fired the gun into the ceiling.  Dust drifted down from the drop-tiles above, alighting on shoulders and desks like snow.

“I’ve called you people for weeks, and all I get is hold music!” beard-man shouted. “It repeats and repeats that stupid weather channel jazz, and I just want someone to listen to me.  So no one wants to help? Fine!” he brought the gun down like it was getting too heavy, and he stopped with it pointed at his own head.

And every face turned… to Jim, the junior assistant shift leader of their crisis hotline office.  The bearded man followed their eyes and settled his focus on Jim.

Jim stood up, nervous acid churning in his stomach around his thirty minute fast food lunch, and the headset cord went taut, stopping him halfway out of his chair and yanking him back down.  He fumbled the headset off with both hands and tried again, this time making it successfully to his feet.

The bearded man had a confused expression on his face, as if asking, “Are you serious?”  The gun dipped away from his temple, just a little bit.

Jim glanced at his script.  “Uh, you don’t want to do this, sir.  Oh wait, sorry, I mean, what’s your name?”

The man’s jaw hung open.

“Right,” Jim rambled on, thumbing the stapled paper, “well, you have so much to live for… people that care about you… don’t do it…”

The gun came down and pointed at Jim.

Jim’s hands shot out in front of him, “Wait!  Dont’ do it!  You don’t want to do this, we can get you help, we can get you anything you want.  You want money?  I’ll give you money.”  Jim started to fumble with his wallet.

Claire removed her headset, placed it next to her script on the desk, and stood.  She angled herself at a forty five degree angle to the man, making herself less of a target and appearing less confrontational.  She kept her palms up, emphasising her empty hands and her desire to help.  And she earned credibility with the man, turning and speaking calmly to Jim, “Stop talking, Jim.  And sit down, please.”

It took her longer than Jim’s ten minute call average, but she got Raymond, the bearded man, talked down.  No one was shot.  And after the dust settled and everyone was safe, Claire was called into a meeting with district management.  She was promoted that very month to general manager.  (Jim’s boss, several times over. Until she fired him, that is.)

Jim got a job in telesales , one floor down in the call centre building.

Claire changed the hold music.