Confessions of a Call Center Gal

Twenty Six





“It’s furr-reeeeeeezing,” I mutter under my frosty breath as the wind slams into my face. I can barely breathe.

It’s so cold that my eyes are watering and my nose won’t stop running. Another gust of wind whips into my face and my tears and snot freeze into icicles.

Winters here are notorious for being harsh. I hate the cold.

I’d take a summer scorcher over any wintery day.

This is Hell on earth! In Dante’s Inferno, the innermost circle of Hell is portrayed as a frozen lake of blood and guilt.

And Dante Alighieri is right! I truly believe that Heaven is a warm place and Hell is butt ass cold.

Despite living in Illinois for most of my life, I still cannot take the cold here. All winter long, I fuss and complain about how cold and miserable it is. And today is one of those days.

Today is my Dante’s Inferno.

“This is bone chilling furr-reeze.” My teeth chatter incessantly as we plow through the tundra.

My scarf is dancing hysterically in the wind. Leaves, litter and debris are twisting and turning violently. In the near distance, I can hear the incessant snapping of flags, thrashing wildly in the storm.

I want to be home right now. This was rather unexpected; the weatherman’s forecast was for a calm, twenty-degree winter day, just proving that the weathermen are as useless to me as a freezer in Antarctica. Their accuracy is almost 90% wrong.

We were hit by a freakish snowstorm as soon as we’d arrived at the Navy Pier. Seriously, we could not have picked a worse day to venture out on our first official date as a couple.

Yes, we are a couple! The cat and mouse game is over.

Since we’re on my home turf, I wanted to show Mika some of Chi-town’s popular attractions. The Navy Pier turns itself into a Winter Wonder Fest during the holiday season, and I thought it would be fun. It’s Chicago’s playground on Lake Michigan and boasts of good entertainment, an array of restaurants, and a fifteen story Ferris wheel that’s open year round.

I had it all planned out in my head. First, we were going to grab a bite to eat at the famous Billy Goat Tavern, immortalized in the SNL skit where a short order cook, played by John Belushi, yelled out, “Cheezborger! Cheezborger! Cheezborger! No fries—cheeps! No Pepsi—Coke!” That skit is classic. And even if you didn’t care for the whole Cheezborger shtick, it’s still something to be experienced. Nothing like a divey vintage diner that’s full of history and lore.

So much for that. The Billy Goat Tavern’s parking lot was full, forcing us to park miles away. Big, BIG mistake. In this hellish snowstorm, neither man nor goat could ever make it there alive.

Secondly, I envisioned the two of us strolling idyllically hand in hand, ice skating on the rink, going for romantic rides, kissing on the Ferris wheel.

So much for that. The Ferris wheel is closed.

Apparently, they’re open year round, weather permitting.

“It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey,” Mika yells over the howling wind.

I nod, as I can no longer speak. My purple lips are frozen shut. Brrrrr. I don’t know about brass monkeys, but it sure feels like we’re in that documentary film The March of the Penguins.

Mika and I huddle close together like Emperor penguins, marching against the brutal wind.

We are one against the force of nature.

This feels like the harshest place on earth and I am seriously questioning my ability to survive in this inhospitable terrain.

Out of nowhere, a hurricane-like wind swooshes in and pummels me into a tree. I anchor myself to it for dear life and shoot Mika a tortured look.

I can tell by the look on his face that he’s suppressing an urge to laugh. Reaching for my hand, he firmly secures it and we break into a run, darting to the nearest safe haven, a place of impregnable safety—Starbucks.

At the register, I order a pumpkin spice latte and blueberry scone; Mika opts for a Christmas blend latte and chocolate cream cheese muffin.

We carry our treats to a dimly lit nook and begin defrosting.

I sip my latte, enjoying the feel of the creamy liquid trickling down my throat. Ahhh, it’s like fuel for my body.

Mika pinches part of my scone, and I steal little chunks of his chocolate muffin. I love the intimacy of sharing food.

I lean my elbows forward. “How’s my scone?”

“Very buttery, but I like it. And how’s my muffin?”

I pinch another bite. “Very chocolaty, but I love it.”

We share an easygoing banter, and I finally find the guts to broach the topic that’s been at the forefront of mind. There’s no easy way to say it, so I just blurt it out, “Mika, how come it took you so long to make your move on me?”

After a pensive pause, he says, “Two reasons. I’ve always felt that the best relationships always start out as great friendships.” Holding my gaze, he continues, “We were good friends.” He stops and smiles. “We are good friends, and I thought dating too soon might change things.”

I take a long sip of my latte. “So things have changed now. Is that bad?”

“No,” he says at once. “But we’re starting out on something more substantial. I’ve gotten to know you so much better now, and I love everything about you, flaws and all.”

“Flaws?” I sit up straighter. “What kind of flaws?” I release a nervous laugh and brace myself.

“Well, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on tight.”

I fling a napkin at him playfully.

“It’s true.” He laughs. “You have these big, beautiful doe-like eyes. But babes, I’m afraid they’re just there for decoration only, you can’t see jack.”

I kick him under the table. “I can see!”

Unperturbed, my Shakespeare goes on professing, “I love how you’re firm and fragile, lovely and unapologetic.”

A warm glow envelops me. Mmm. I’m starting to like this.

“And I’ve been enchanted by your cute, sweet and shy persona since day one.”

Smiling, I take a healthy swallow of lukewarm latte. “What else?” I ask, fishing for more compliments.

“And my petal...” He strokes my cheek. “You may look like a delicate flower, but you’re as feisty as an old Ukrainian wife.”

I splutter coffee into my cup.

“An old Ukrainian wife?” I demand huffily.

He chortles. “They’re a force to be reckoned with. Haven’t you heard the joke about the old Ukrainian wife?”

“Nope,” I reply stonily.

He launches right into it, “An old Ukrainian man lies dying in his bed. Suddenly, he sniffs the sweet aroma of pierogi and—”

“Wait,” I cut in. “Do you like pierogi?”

“Nah. I’m not really a fan of boiled dumplings.”

“Okay. Continue,” I say with a flick of my wrist.

Mika’s voice is animated as he regales the story of The Old Ukrainian Wife. “And even though the old man is near death’s door, he musters all his remaining strength and crawls into the kitchen. There, he is beyond ecstatic to find three hundred of his favorite pierogi, spread out on the kitchen counter. It’s a feast for his eyes. He thinks to himself that either he’s died and gone to Heaven, or this is one final act of love from his loyal wife of sixty years, ensuring that he leaves this earth a happy man. The frail, old man gathers all his remaining strength and flings himself at the kitchen counter. With trembling hands, he reaches for a pierogi. He’s about to shove it into his drooling mouth, when all of a sudden KABAAAAM!”

I jerk my head up. “What happened?”

“His wife smacks him with a wooden spoon and yells ‘Piss off! Those are for the funeral’.”

I burst into a spasm giggles. “Mika, if you were a dying man, I’d let you stuff your face with Belgian trippe sausages.”

“Now that’s one more thing I love about you—you remember things about me. And about others. You’re thoughtful and kind, fiercely loyal…especially to Kars.”

I cough. “Um, you said you love my flaws. What other flaws do I have?”

“None.” His voice is colored with amusement.

“You sure? If there’s anything else, I’d like to know.”

“I’m sure.” He gazes into my eyes. “I find everything about you endearing.”

Since Mika is declaring his love for me, it seems only fair I reciprocate. “You know what I love most about you?”

His eyes twinkle. “What?”

“I love that you have the patience of a Dalai Lama.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Maddy, I’d rather not be compared to a monk.”

“And, I adore how when you laugh, no sound is emitted.”

At that, he laughs and of course, it is silent.

“And has anyone ever told you that you look like Zac Levi and Zac Efron?”

He draws a blank. “Who’s Zac Efron? And who’s Zac Levi?”

I stare at him as if he’d just returned from Jupiter and Mars.

“Wait!” I exclaim. “Back to you and me. You said there were two reasons. What’s reason number two?”

“Well, you made it clear from the get-go that dating someone at the work place was a bad idea. And the more I thought about it, you were right.”

I blink. “But we’re still working at the same place.”

He sets down his cup. “Not anymore.”

“What?” I gawp. “You quit?!?”

“I gave my two weeks’ notice before we left. I’ve got a new job, Maddy. An engineering gig with Greenworth.”

I can hear the exuberance and the passion in his voice as he goes on to tell me all about his new job. He continues, “And they’ll even pay for my tuition if I want to go to grad school, which I surely plan on doing.”

I stare at him, slightly alarmed. “You’re leaving us?”

He cups my chin lightly. “Hey, we’ll still be together, and from what it sounds like, you may be getting your own gig as well.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you. But it just seems like everything’s moving so quickly. And I just feel sorta…” I struggle for the word, “scared?” I feel myself tense, slightly apprehensive about the future. “What if I get that job with Ajon and I turn out to be crap at it? I mean, compared to other seasoned tech writers, I’m probably not very good...maybe I should just stay where I am.”

“Maddy, please don’t get sucked into that black hole. Archie has worked in that call center for more than thirty years, back when Lightning Speed was just a phone company. Can you even imagine that? It may be something Arch enjoys, but I know you, Madison…you’re like a wildflower, a chrysalis trapped in the call center cocoon.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “What’s with all the flower and critter metaphors?”

“I’ve been reading Wordsworth,” he says with a crisp nod and I shoot him a look that says, ‘Get real.’

“I have,” he insists. “But not by choice; I had to read it for a class,” he finally admits. After a beat, he adds, “I even wrote a little poem about you.”

“You have? Read it to me!” I order.

He smiles at me sheepishly and squeezes my hand. “Okay, but promise me you won’t laugh.”

I lie, “I promise.”

He releases my hand and fumbles in his pocket. I watch him dredge out a crumpled piece of paper. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Go on...” I smile encouragingly.

After smoothing out the creases, he clears his throat. “It goes something like this…



When came the break of dawn,

Came to birth a delicate fawn,

She climbed up the hill so high,

But then heaved a sad, sad sigh,

For on the lake she saw swans,

And said to herself, ‘I am only a fawn,

Oh how I wish to be a swan.’



But she had grace and beauty so serene,

She had strength, agility and could run with the wind,

And the fawn soon grew into a majestic reindeer,

Sharp, witty and still so demure,

But she did not know, she would not believe,

That she could do anything her heart conceived.



Until one misty morning, she met a swashbuckling stag,

And together they journeyed to Lake Montague,

Said her stag, ‘Reindeer, reindeer, look in the lake and see…

You’re more beautiful and brilliant than a swan could ever be.’



He stops and looks up. “Um, that’s all I have for now.”

For a moment, I remain speechless. No one has ever written a poem for me before.

I tilt my head to the side. “You wrote that for me?”

He nods, slightly bashful.

“I love it!” I gush with gusto. “I’m a reindeer? Why?”

He smiles an endearing smile. “Reindeers are the only female deer with antlers,” he states matter-of-factly, spoken like a man who watches the Discovery Channel.

“You picture me with horns?” I make an exaggerated face.

“No! Not horns!” He laughs. “Antlers. Reindeers are gorgeous creatures,” he says, sounding bizarrely like the late Steve Irwin. “And I find their antlers so majestic, and so regal.”

I clear my throat. “In the poem, I…err…um, I assume that you’re my swashbuckling stag?”

“Art imitating life,” he admits with a lopsided grin.

Leaning forward, I peck him on the cheek. “Thanks. For the poem and for being my stag.”

Abruptly, he veers it back to work. “Maddy, if Ajon offers you the tech writing gig, take it. I know you’ll be good at it.”

I bite my inner lip and remain silent.

He laces his fingers with mine. “When the timing is right, and when you feel comfortable with the idea, how do you feel about us moving in together?”

I’m slightly taken aback. Mika is laying all his cards on the table. And he sounds so serious about committing. To me!

“You mean you’d want to move out of the dorms?” I tease.

“Well, you can’t live in the dorms when you are no longer a student,” he deadpans.

“Mika!” I shriek ecstatically. “When are you graduating?”

He smiles broadly. “In a month.”

My head is spinning with all this news.

“You’re graduating, you’re getting a new job and you want to move in with me?”

It’s a lot to take in.

Seeing my open-mouthed expression, he treads lightly. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay? You and me...”

I nod and toy with the crumbs on my plate.

“I’m getting another latte. Do you want anything else?” he asks and I shake my head. He consults the chalkboard menu on the wall. “Hmm. I can’t decide what to get.”

“Here, try my latte.” I hold up my cup. “It’s pumpkin spice.”

My cup bears a trace of my Burt’s Bees Watermelon lipstick.

Holding my gaze, he tilts the cup to his lips and sips from the exact same spot of my lipstick smear.

I swallow hard. That felt sexier than a kiss.

Mika returns my Styrofoam cup and I bury my nose in it, not trusting myself to speak.

He looks out the window, his latte long forgotten. “It still looks brutal out there.”

“Um hmm,” I agree airily.

Still gazing outside, he says, “I don’t think it’s safe for us to be driving home in this weather.”

“Umm hmm,” I hum noncommittally. “I don’t suppose so.”

“So…should we get a room?”

“A room?” I part my lips and play dumb.

“They have hotels here, don’t they?”

“I believe they do...” I trail off.

His lips twist into a quirk smile. “Shall we go?”

“G-go where?” I ask like a blithering idiot.

He pins me with his gaze.

My heart is thumping away like hail on a windshield.

“Err...what about your latte? I thought you wanted to order another one?” I stall. “And don’t you still want to go to the Billy Goat Tavern? Cheezborger, cheezborger, cheezborger! No fries—cheeps! No Pepsi—Coke!” I run my mouth like a mad woman.

What is wrong with me??

Thankfully Mika doesn’t seem to notice my lapse in the sanity department. “Forget about the latte,” he says in a low voice. “And forget about the Billy Goat Tavern.”

And the rest…well let’s just say that a lady doesn’t kiss and tell. And since I’m not a lady, I’ll say that he is indeed a stag, in every sense of the word.

Cough. Size is most certainly not an overrated commodity.





The next day, we take the red eye flight to Pocatello; or Poky, as the old-timers call it.

And to an unsettling degree, Poky is starting to feel a lot more like home.