“They have a bigger plan for me, I know it.”

Sharon spoke her daily affirmation aloud as she sat down for another shift at the call center of Brlyantc, a tech company whose true work and purpose she did not know.  And that wasn’t her fault, as she told her mom.  They liked it that way.

The new chair she was given a year ago scooted in toward the wall of the cubicle endowed with the only flat surface she had.  On top there was a computer monitor, wireless mouse and keyboard, and the five “items of personal significance and expression” she was allowed.  From left to right: A picture of Sharon and her mom at the Grand Canyon, a blue mug with the letter S painted in fancy script, a tennis ball (Sharon did not play or like tennis), a glass jar containing M&Ms, and an old blue dog collar with a tag identifying a recently departed poodle named Mitsy.

“I know it, I know it, I know it.”

The ritual first included only the first sentence, but a week ago, with no signs of progress, Sharon added a new piece as she picked up her headset with both hands and held it in an offertory manner toward the monitor.

“I accept and await the plan.”

She slid the headset on top of her tight red curls and made the necessary micro adjustments to the placement of the microphone that dangled an inch in front of her mouth.

“Two six five four eight. Mitsy2016lllluuuu.”

Sharon was usually the first in her cubicle neighborhood to arrive each day and thus felt no qualms about the security of saying aloud her login information as she typed.  A double-click on Brlyantc’s proprietary phone software brought up an elaborate interface ready to guide her through every step of a potential customer’s questions and objections.  She had 20 seconds to close her eyes and breathe before the earpiece began buzzing with the sounds of the first robocall.

“Today could be the last day. Believe. Believe. Believe.”

She picked up the tennis ball and passed it nervously between her hands as she waited for Greg Hindersock of Tectron Industries to pick up the phone.  The call lasted just 12 seconds.  He had never heard of Brlyantc and was equally sure he did not need or want to employ its services.

The ball bounced to a slow roll as Sharon logged the interaction in the “outcomes” section – a task she had exactly 25 seconds to complete before the system automatically saved her keystrokes and flipped to a new screen for a new call.  Ninety-nine percent of the time she wrote simply, “Not interested.”  But this time her fingers went rogue.

“Did not understand the plan.”

A jolt of electric feeling spread through her with that sentence.  It was the feeling of finding another piece in the puzzle, another step toward ending the nightmare of three years at that desk with 12-hour days that made a real social life impossible and left her lonely beyond anything she thought she could ever experience.  But this, this sentence was a revolution.  She was no longer speaking toward a monitor that couldn’t hear her, but rather putting into the official flow of corporate information all that she wanted to happen.  There was a plan, one that she knew, and soon everyone in the corporate tower next door would too.

Doug Granderson from Pacific Gutterwall Corporation hung up without saying a word beyond “hello.”

“You don’t get the plan either. Why don’t you understand?” Sharon typed as the official outcome.

Nancy Covpop of Trexisto was very polite, but definitely not interested at all.

“I have the answers you need if you will just ask.  Please let me help.”

Henry Broderick of HelixCo didn’t pick up the phone.

“I know your struggles at all levels.  I have been on the front lines for years and seen it all.  Just do what you know is right.”

The system went blank after it accepted the response.  No new call rang through.  Sharon stared at the monitor with a mix of confusion and relief.  Something different had happened.  A minute went by, and then another, and another.  No change in the screen, no movement from Sharon.  The tennis ball lay motionless in her left hand.

“User 26548, please log off and report to building 145, room 89, section 12, seat 4.”

The printer under her desk shot alive and transferred the message from the screen to the sheet of paper that shot out.  Sharon picked it up, and dutifully signed out.

“They have a bigger plan for me!  I knew it!”