A New Adventure

She’s screaming at me, and I’m letting her. I don’t have a choice, really.

My usual tactics aren’t working. My calm demeanor and soft even tone seem to be making things worse.

She’s caterwauling like an agitated primate high up in a forested canopy, a 40-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. If this woman had access to coconuts, she’d be chucking them at me. She doesn’t though, so she’s hurling curse words and screams instead.

“YOU NEED TO FIX THIS, NOW! AND IF YOU CAN’T, I NEED TO SPEAK TO SOMEONE WHO CAN!”

My heart is thudding, my instincts are urging me to ditch this banshee, pull the plug.

However, due to “professionalism,” both my actions and vocabulary are limited.

“Give me a moment, please.”

To be clear, it’s on her. This woman’s predicament occurred because she ignored multiple requests. It’s a few days beyond the cut-off point and her account is closed—and now, NOW—she’s decided to call.

I message my supervisor in Teams, explain the predicament in rapid fire SOS. My sentence riddled with typos and grammar no-nos. She gives me the go ahead to reinstate the account, and I set about trying to help the, uh, situation.

Besides being revved up by the screams, there’s another part of me rolling its eyes. This woman’s behavior is embarrassing and ridiculous. But, she’s free to do whatever she wants. Behave in whatever manner she wants to, and I don’t have to let it affect me.

I take a breath and consciously work to slow myself down.

The screamer has changed tactics too—this new one is equally nasty, yet it’s more audibly appealing. She’s come to lower branches and is hanging upside down, hissing, “I bet you guys get this a lot, don’t you? The way you mess with people like this, it’s disgusting. It’s a BBB complaint, a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Give me a moment please, I’m updating your account. We can chat about it in a second—I need to concentrate here.”

She obliges.

And there’s another part of me. A semi-sick version worth mentioning that’s almost enjoying this. It’s somewhat thrilling in the same way haunted houses are thrilling. Yes, she’s screaming at me, but she has no idea who I am. She thinks that by insulting the company, she’s insulting me, not realizing I don’t even work for the company she thinks I work for.

She believes I’m in one state, but I’m hundreds of miles away. We’ve got Texas between us— she couldn’t hit me with a coconut if she tried.

Besides the obvious reason I took this job—to earn extra money to fund the next adventure—it’s also a personal experiment of sorts. Can I learn to better manage challenging situations, and not let them get to me? What personal protective barriers can I enact to not let that type of energy in?

Her screams are not personal, because she doesn’t know anything about me. As biting as it sounds, it’s a thrill akin to being at the zoo. Clutching a waffle cone of chocolate flavored soft-serve while being chastised and threatened by a primate swinging violently on an old tire secured by a rope. The adrenaline rush is still there, but there’s a thick protective glass barrier between us.

It’s happening, but it’s not real.

I’m safe.