thank you for calling

a women named debbie, with perpetual bad hair days somewhere in Oklahoma, where it has dropped from 105 to 75 degrees, helped me.

a lady named Mercedes, who had a particular accent and would trust me with her children, helped me.

and then there was Alan, a man who to say mumbled would be generous, did not.

transfer
transfer
transfer

ive given the same damn information to at least 16 different individuals. i feel as if im in the beginning stages of a language course.
6812
94124
5253
press pound (is pound the verb that activates it all) who's the subject, me or them?
124
44236
8734 9218 7342 9187
press pound
activate all over again
verify
verify
verify

Ive lost the reason for this call in the first place. but another twenty minutes on hold with bad electronic sym-phony music will clear my head and remind me in enough time to start the numeric conversation all over again
6985
94124
8734 9218 7342 9187
ill transfer you, are three little words i hear over and over again
i envision that i started at the top. called a man in the a corner office with a stellar view of a strip mall, abandoned warehouse and parking lot filled with SUVs, mini vans and one lone chartreuse beetle that belongs to the not gay-gay guy who works in IT.
with each transfer im dropped a floor of a 3 floored skyscraper somewhere in the plain states.

By the time I get to the basement Im hanging out with a lady 6 cups of coffee deep, who hasnt seen the sun in 5 years and has a husband who smokes reds and has a little problem no one talks about when at thanksgiving dinner, drunk he unknowingly knocks over a candle and sets fire to the candied yams and plastic tablecloth.
this women, named something to the effect of doris, elaine, betty or maybe lavendra, and i have more in common then id like to admit.
we both bake when stressed, smoke too many cigarettes on the sly from our family, and have a less than fulfilled sex life.
shes the last stop on the 87 minute phone conversation that will inevitably end up on a phone bill i wont be able to pay next month.
i give her all the same information i gave the last 23 people, shell perhaps take pity on me, type in my numbers, and since i cant go any deeper into the ground without asking to be transferred to a coffin company. she'll have to help.
deferred, forbeared, royally fucked, all words that hold no actual significance but mean that at least for the next two months i can breathe, cut back the booze bill, and save a little to start making payments again.

it all ends the same way, feigned chipper attitude, plastered smile and a false sense of hope, with 4 little words, "thank you for calling."