Windward Review Volume 19 (2021): Empathy and Entropy

The Hell of It
Alan Berecka
To survive, operators learned early in their careers
to glance back often at the observation board
where the bosses sat and listened in on us
as they checked our keying, waited to hear
policy upheld politely with a smiling voice,
any mistakes or cross words became faults—
red marks that stained and ended careers.
If no boss sat on the board, we could
have some fun, like that night some drunk
called in from a bar saying he lost his quarter
in the phone and asked me to dial his number.
But a few days before Ma Bell had directed
all of her operators to no longer place calls
for folks claiming to have lost change in pay phones.
All we could do was to offer to mail the change
back to the customer, because, truth be told,
it had gotten to where only lost quarters
were going into her payphones, and Ma Bell
couldn’t abide any more damned lies.
Upon hearing my cheerful recitation of
the new policy the drunk screamed,
“Well fuck you, operator!”
and slammed the receiver back
into its cradle. I double-checked to
make sure no one was listening in,
and then, for the hell of it,
I hit the call back button.
Amazingly, the drunk answered. “Yeah?”
“Hey, this is the operator, and I just wanted
to ask you a question, sir?”
“What’s that, operator?”
“Well, I was wondering if you are
naturally witty or if you read a lot?”
The drunk’s rage flared.
He screamed, “Fuck you!” and slammed
the receiver even harder. Well,
it worked once,
so I hit the call back button again.
“What now!” roared the drunk.
“Aw nothing. I just wanted
to compliment you on your wide and
varied vocabulary.”
The drunk started to scream fuck you
but realized he couldn’t or he’d
prove my point,
so he just screamed, “FA, FA, FA… “
as he did his best to rip
the phone off the wall
until the line finally went dead.
A day or two later some man
in a shaken voice he was at a
hospital, told me had to break
some bad news to his wife. Their
child, an accident. Could I please
put him through? I looked back. A
big-haired hard ass sat at the board,
taking notes. I thought about the
odds, one operator in a hundred,
maybe I could dial the number, and
keep my job, but when my eyes met
the boss’s, she shook her head and
mouthed the words, “No, don’t!”
straight at me.
I wish I could say at 22, I was brave,
not worried about the bills I had to
pay; but I only offered to mail the
quarter back, offered to let him speak
to a supervisor who’d charge the call
to his home account.
I wish I could say the hard ass finally
melted, but all I can say is when that
man hung up, exhausted in his frustration,
the click echoed in the pit of
my stomach as my gut went numb,
but, I had saved the richest mother
in the world twenty-five cents and,
the hell of it was, once my fault-free
observation was logged,
I got to keep my job.
41
Empathy / Entropy