“Is there something wrong, Mr. Moore?” my boss leans in to whisper harshly near my ear, his hot bitter breath envelops my head, choking me in a fallout cloud. He’s graying, movie bad-guy teeth click clack inches from my face.
“No Don,” I replied, refusing to use any sort of honorific with the irritating son of a bitch. “Just needed a couple of minutes after that last call.”
“Well, I think you’ve had your couple of minutes. We pay you to take calls for seven and one half hours a day, not to daydream,” he says in a breathy whisper, puffing out a toxic cigarette and coffee halo, which clings persistently to my nose hairs.
“I understand Don. Like I said—I just needed…” against my better judgment, I turn to face him. His crimson head is startlingly close to my face. I can feel the humidity from his evaporating sweat clinging to my forehead. I involuntarily recoil. My next-pod-neighbor stifled his spontaneous snicker.
Don’s already-radiating anger intensifies, and I hear a low rumbling in his throat which sounds dangerously close to a growl. He peers at me with sharp and unblinking eyes, daring me to say another word.
"Don!" calls Kim, from two pods down. "I got one!"
Don rolls away from me; the stench of the smoke lingers in the air. I sigh and try to breathe for a minute.
I knew Hell was going to be bad, but I never expected they'd make me a telemarketer.
Opening: Matthew Heaggans.....Continuation: Khazar-khum