My eyes are closed as I try to drift off to sleep. It is proving to be quite a difficult task, there’s a cacophony of noise in the form of echoes of the Skype message alert, an electronic artillery bombarding my mind. Tomorrow, it will be my ears that are subjected to the relentless barrage of notifications. To add weight to the notion that the persistent Skype shelling is truly as irritating as I’m trying to depict, the sound of my alarm to wake me is the most favourable thing I’ll hear that day. And there it goes, I have been summoned to take my place at my workstation, the call centre in my kitchen.
It is imperative to be logged on to the system by 8:30am. If not, this lateness in logging on will be logged by the superiors. A positive of working from home — there aren’t many, as I’ve come to learn — is that there are few obstacles to prevent an “agent” from logging on in time. Yes, you read that correctly, an “agent”, apparently. Though this solitary glimmer of glamour is so miniscule it is essentially worthless, the positive connotations you might associate with an “agent” do not exist in the call centre in my kitchen.
My seat is occupied, and like an extremely budget jet fighter, I pull on my headset. All. Systems. Are. Go. Unless of course, the operating system itself — which by everyone’s admission is outdated — decides not to function, then I will not be taking off anytime soon. This is also compounded with the very real threat of my supposed ally, VirginMedia, surrendering and relinquishing my supply of internet. Today though all is well, and intel has found me via email; “please adhere to the below”. Below is a table containing the name of the agents and their allotted break and lunch times. A morning break of ten minutes, a lunch of one hour, and an afternoon break of a further ten minutes. A cherished collective eighty minutes free from the call centre in my kitchen.
The eighty minutes that is provided is monitored by the senior figures within the outfit. My morning breaktime today has fallen on 10:20am. Upon 10:19am, I watch the seconds tick closer to 10:20am. It is a requirement that I select the “lunch” function when going on my break, this is to ensure that, in my own home, the higherups know exactly what I’m doing and for how long. Bang on 10:20am, I click “lunch” and initiate my ten minutes break. I eject from my computer chair as though I’ve real purpose, determined to make the most of every second I have. Indeed, I’ve no genuine task of importance to complete, I just really want some toast, and I need to ensure that it is made and consumed within my ten minutes threshold. Every second of each minute is accounted for. This information is collated and placed in a table which is sent to me at the end of the day, along with each agent’s respective ability to adhere to the measures enforced. The toast didn’t stand a chance, the crust remains like a carcass of hapless prey. It was a swift and efficient attack, so swift in fact; I’ve around forty seconds left before I have to declare myself as “available” for the call centre in my kitchen.
Processes implemented to deal with certain queries has raised eyebrows amongst many agents, yet nothing has been vocalised yet. This process that I and other agents must apply is an arduous one, it yields more complication rather than resolution. Therefore, it is time consuming, and much to the despair of the higher ranks who formulated this flawed process, it impedes upon an agent’s productivity. “Coaching” is the function I must select when concluding queries, some of which are more complex than others, all of which are taking longer than necessary as a result of a poorly thought strategy. Time spent in “coaching” is also regulated and placed in the end of the day table. If it is deemed you are spending too long in “coaching”, expect a call from the corporate commanders wishing to know why. Another function at my disposal which relieves me from my workstation for a precise fifteen minutes per day is “personal”. This time, as well as the other functions, is recorded and will find itself sitting snugly in the end of the day table along with the other agents and their corresponding times spent in “personal”. “Personal” could range from anything to making a quick drink or stretching your legs, for me, it’s predominantly spent having a poo. There does seem to be a hint of irony of having your time which is apparently “personal” logged into a table for all other agents to see, however, irony is lost in the call centre in my kitchen.
An erroneous email has somehow been dispatched by a bumbling boss. The contents and reach of it is unknown to me and the other agents. All I know is that it may invite the presence of a plethora of parties who are equally bemused as they are angered. I and the other agents have been forewarned of a wave of calls. I wait in anticipation for the incoming tide. The objective today is to not hold the line, but to pick up the line, the first call has landed. Calls must be picked up within four seconds, this is also recorded, and the average of my speed of pick up time will be situated in the end of the day table. During my call as I try to extinguish the justified annoyance there is an eruption of Skype alerts. It sounds like a digital submachine gun being fired from the hip with no true direction. They are coming from a seemingly distressed leader of agents. “Can I have a call picking up”. I am still on a call, and it would appear all the other agents are, too. “I have three calls queueing that I need picking up” comes next. This is followed by more pleas: “I have had five calls queueing for six minutes”. Attempts to rally the agents are in vain. I and the others are all busy. Blunt requests soon transcend to unreasonable orders: “I need everyone in available now!” It is simple, everyone cannot be in available because they are either engaged, or in “coaching”. Though, common sense is not prevalent in the call centre in my kitchen.
Communication between agents and those who are of a senior position to the agents is not always affable; as illustrated previously with the nature of demands to pick up calls which simply could not be at that moment in time. Most agents do not bother to waste their time responding to the ceaseless commands to pick up calls. There is however a small minority who are growing increasingly disillusioned with the current operation and are beginning to question the authoritative figures. One bemoans how we do not have a workforce that is large enough to weather the storm, it is evident that it is beginning to erode the resilience of even the more experienced agents. This observation is dismissed and soon drowned out with the more pressing matter of the need for calls to be answered. Amid a siege of Skype alerts another agent challenges the approach that is being deployed by the hierarchy, stating that it is in dire need of amendment in order to improve efficacy. Hostility is seeping into the cracks of the company. Friction between agents and the individuals who are incessantly insistent has ignited, it has caused a spark which has landed on the fuse. It is now a ticking timebomb. Thankfully, my scheduled afternoon break of ten minutes draws near. Much like a ticking timebomb, I carefully watch the seconds on the clock tick closer to 03:20pm. I can momentarily escape this conflict and the call centre in my kitchen.
Returning to my seat it appears as though the discontent amongst the ranks has quelled, for now at least. In the late afternoon, the heavy hail of calls calm and with this as does the surging sea of Skype notifications. It enables me and the other agents to steady the ship and sail towards the destination that is yearned for; 5:30pm. It is not always plain sailing, though. It seldom is, in the call centre in my kitchen.
I am here to serve, and serve I shall, I am still very much under surveillance and I am still required to pick up calls in a flash (a four second flash). I am not famed for my quickdraw, as the end of the day table illustrates, I am usually around 3.7 seconds, not the sharpest shooter. 5:30pm is on the horizon, there are talks of bandits who look to strike late on in the day, at around 5:29pm, when I am at my most vulnerable. I have my eyes trained on the clock, eagerly watching the seconds drip away; my trigger finger hovers over the “logout” function, as soon as it is 5:30pm, my reflexes emulate a prime John Wayne. Click! I take my shot. No mistake. The day is concluded. I saunter out of the call centre in my kitchen.
At the end of the day, I have time to contemplate. I realise that this is an overly dramatic account of a day of working from home. This piece is deliberately exaggerated, though I suspect this will be ignored with the perceived scent of a “millennial” moaning detected by the packs of the permanently outraged; the likes of whom mindlessly worship Piers Morgan for berating a vegan sausage roll. I understand that my work and all that comes with it pales in comparison to that of those who work tirelessly and fearlessly within the NHS. Perspective is paramount, it seems to be absent amongst management, I wish not for your hollow appreciation, what I and my colleagues want is perspective. We are in a global pandemic, phone calls cannot always be answered, and that must be acceptable. It is not nearly as important as it is made to be, it is ultimately insignificant. With that perspective that I wish management possessed, I recognise I am extremely lucky to work in the safe environment of my own home. I am also grateful for my good health. Upon reflection; I suppose the purpose of this writing was to combat the monotony, the absurdity and repetitiveness of the call centre in my kitchen.
