Connections

In a previous life; yes even before the one where cable modems slid effortlessly upon my testing rack, before the executive babysitting gig, before the graphic artist thing, before the office manager thing, and before another staff babysitting job... before all of those, but after the wal-mart and movie theater popcorn jockey stint... I was an operator. 
A pick up the phone, dial zero and someone on the the other end answers with knowledge of all things telephone kind of operator.  

It's probably one of the most interesting jobs I've ever had. In spite of never having a set schedule, sitting in a call center where we sat lined like chattel going to market and in spite of having to raise a yellow colored card to let the managers know we needed to pee ... in spite of all that... it brought experiences that are too strange to be anything but true. 

The job of an operator, in practice, is rather mindless.  Wait for the beep in your headset, push a button, announce yourself, connect the caller to their number, push another button to disconnect, wait for the beep and repeat. However, every once in awhile, there comes a call that just, well... it just gives you a story to tell forever.  Lucky for me I have many stories to tell. 

One includes dark construction sites in the middle of the night and a gun, one involves the sound of the panic in a foreigners voice, one involves going back in time,  but those are posts for another day, not this one.  This post is about finding common ground. Making that caller's connection possible with nothing more than the ability to speak canine.  

80% of the calls coming to my station were for collect call connections, and a good chunk of those originated in jails and psych wards. Another good chunk of request for collect calls came from pay phones. Random people on the streets with no money trying to find someone who will take their call.  All of these calls were funneled into the room where I sat, headset on and waiting for a beep.  

A caller if he/she tried a collect call more than once, could connect with me one time and my neighboring co-worker the next. It wasn't uncommon for prisoners to call so many times that he could tell you which operators were on duty, and who you were sitting next to.  These type of people were the "regulars".  

The Woofer was a regular.  

At least once per shift, one of the operators would yell out... "The dog is on the loose!", and we knew that sometime within the next couple of hours, several of us would end up blowing our call completion times because we had to deal.. with The Woofer.   

A call from The Woofer went something like this.... 

Beep Beep....  
"U S West, this is Gina, how can I connect your call?" 

"Woof"  he would say, which really, didn't answer my question completely.

"I'm sorry, I'll need a phone number and the manner in which you would like to pay for the call" I would say.

"(Woof Woof Woof)Woof Woof Woof  - Woff Woof Woof Woof"  he would bark in telephone number format. 

"Sir, Are you trying to make a collect call?" I would ask.

"Woof"  he would confirm.

In most cases, this is where the operator would "disconnect"... hang up.  We were timed on how long it took to complete our calls and The Woofer took too much time.  

It was near the end of a very long double shift and nearing 2 o'clock in the morning when The Woofer ended up on my headset. I was tired, I was facing going home to an empty apartment, I was new to a big city.. and did I say I was tired?  

Beep Beep.... 

"U S West, this is Gina, how can I connect your call?" 

"Woof"...

...you remember the conversation;  then it struck me...  

"Thank you sir, that number was (Woof Woof Woof) Woof Woof Woof - Woof Woof Woof Woof. Is that correct?"  

Silence.

"Sir, was that the correct number?" I asked again. 

"Woooof..." he said, with a tone of surprise.

"Fine, Let me connect you."

I had dialed my own home phone number, knowing The Woofer and I would both hear the phone ring, but only I knew that no one would answer.  

"Wait!" came a voice from the other end.

"Sir?" I said.  "Is there something wrong?"  

"I changed my mind." he said. "But Ma'am..."  

"Yes?"  

"Thank You."  

"And thank you, for using U S West.  Have a nice evening Sir."  I said as I disconnected for the evening.

That was the last time the Woofer's call ever came to my station, but I like to think it wasn't the last time there was a connection.