The Barometer
Then came November
Good things have happened to me in November. For example, I met my husband in November of 1986 in Winnipeg. But I also had the worst job ever, and although it lasted only an hour and a half, it is a bittersweet memory, every autumn.
Telemarketing: Halifax, November 1990
I lived on the Dartmouth side of the harbour, so first caught one of those cute little passenger ferries. Running late (as usual), I devised a mental map, a clever route making use of the downtown’s many pedways, skywalks—you know, those glassed-in walkways connecting one building to the next. My new job was in a high-rise thus connected. Anyway, it was cold out and windy and threatening sleet.
The only wrinkle was that I had never taken the route heading into the downtown, just on the way home. I had used the parkade across the street.
As I heard the door click behind me on the roof of the parkade, I wondered if I shouldn’t have wedged it open with a rock. Running across the large expanse, I determined I would be exactly on time. I tugged at the door of the next pedway.
Locked.
It was now one minute to nine, and the flow of commuters I had seen walking past the door, which did open from the inside, had dried up.
I ran back to the other door: locked—and windowless.
Trapped on Roof, Pedestrian Dies of Exposure!
Should I take the stairs all the way down to ground level, or should I wait at the skywalk door? The office I was heading for was even on this floor!
I walked back to the glassed-in walkway and waited in the wind til another late person opened the door for me.
I entered the Telemarketing office at about 9:15—disheveled, wind-blown, and out of breath from running down hallways.
“You are late,” my new boss, a young woman, said, as she handed me my training materials. It was a photocopied script which someone had doodled all over.
Ten minutes later, training complete, we took to the phones. “Hello, I’m calling from the Canadian Liver Foundation,” I said, over and over again. I was amazed how many people pledged money over the phone.
If the person we called gave money to the Canadian Liver Foundation, we kept them on our list. If the person did not give money to the Canadian Liver Foundation, we kept them on our list. The only time we were to strike a person off the list was if they did not speak English.
The Supervisor walked around the tiny room, looking over her new staff. She stopped at my chair and whispered, “I know it’s easier, Charlynn, but you really shouldn’t write on the script.” When I told her the script was like that when I received it, she appeared very skeptical.
After about an hour I realized I could not do this all day, every day. In fact, I wouldn’t make it through the morning. I raised my hand like a schoolchild, as I had been trained, and the Supervisor came over to my cubicle.
I asked her what time the morning break started, figuring that would be a good time to excuse myself. “But you just started an hour ago!” Hmmm. Yup, true. “Yes, that’s right,” I said. “Can you tell me when the break is?”
At 10:45 I gathered up my materials and handed them to her. I said, “I would like to donate my salary to the Canadian Liver Foundation,” and left.
I did not hurry through pedways, I walked calmly through the now-sunny streets, enjoying the crisp autumn air.
Not long afterwards, I was very pleased to receive a call from that office. “Hello, I’m calling from the Canadian Liver Foundation,” the caller said, then proceeded with the script. I interrupted her to say, as clearly as possible: “I do not speak English.”
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