Authors: Kimberla Lawson Roby
“Are you crazy?” he said, yanking hold of her arm.
“No. You are. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go.”
She tried twisting away from him.
“Stop it,” he yelled, grabbing her other arm, too. “Just stop it.”
“Let me go, Marvin.”
“Not until you stop acting crazy.”
“I’m not playing with you. Let…me…go,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Fine. But if you raise your hand to me again, expect the same thing back.”
She jerked away from him. “I wish you would. I wish you would even think about laying a hand on me.”
“I’m advising you to stop while you’re ahead.”
He tried walking away again.
But Charisse pushed him from behind with all her might and his body slammed into the wall in the hallway. She watched him grab his side and then try to balance himself, but she had not an ounce of remorse or sympathy for him. She wished that she had hurt him much worse.
Marvin turned around and charged toward her, clasping his hands tightly around her neck and forcing her head against the wall. “Didn’t I tell you to stop?”
Charisse gasped for air, trying to call out his name and trying to remove his fingers, but he wouldn’t budge. He squeezed even harder but then finally released her.
Charisse coughed uncontrollably, both of them completely out of breath. She had never seen Marvin act this way before and wondered if maybe he was abusing drugs or something. Had to be if he thought he could stand up to her this boldly without any possible consequences. He was acting very different, and while she’d thought this change in attitude was a result of his latest promotion, something told her that there was much more to the story.
But for his sake, she hoped this sudden confidence he was exhibiting was only temporary.
For his sake, she hoped she wouldn’t have to hurt him.
A
NOTHER DAY,
another irate caller. For the life of me, I could never understand why certain customers thrived on being so difficult. It was almost as if their wretched little lives desperately depended on it. It was as if they longed for the opportunity to ruin someone else’s day and couldn’t wait to laugh about it when they hung up.
Which is why I sometimes wondered why I hadn’t resigned from this wonderful life of luxury, my position as customer service manager, a very long time ago. But who was I fooling? My staying on had absolutely nothing to do with job satisfaction and everything to do with the sixty thousand dollars that Telecom Wireless was paying me to be there. They paid me well enough that for the most part I didn’t mind listening to brainless wonders like Tacquinisha Bell, the woman who had asked to be transferred to “someone with authority” only a few minutes ago. She was making me wish I had purchased one extra dozen Krispy Kremes, because after this I was definitely going to need them.
“Ms. Bell, I’m really sorry that you’ve been experiencing so many dropped calls over the last few days.”
“Sorry? Sorry my ass!” she said, and I raised my eyebrows by reflex. “You people don’t feel
sorry
when you send out those high-ass bills every single month, now do you?”
“Ms. Bell, I hear everything you’ve been saying, and I completely understand your frustration. But at the same time, I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from using those obscenities.”
“What? I just know you ain’t tryna’ to tell me how to speak. Because in case you forgot, I’m the customer and the customer is
always
right. You got that?
Always
.”
“I agree with you one hundred percent, but I am not obligated to listen to any forms of vulgarity. So, I’m asking you as nicely as possible not to use any.”
“I’ll say whatever the hell I feel like sayin’, anytime I get ready. And you bet not hang up on me either.”
“I don’t want to, but company policy does allow us that option if it becomes necessary.”
“And I just hope you do, too.
Whitney Todd
. Yeah, that’s right, I wrote your name down as soon as you said it, and I’m gone make sure your ass is fired on the spot if you end this conversation.”
The verdict was in. This woman was mentally insane. She was being unreasonable and it was time I ended this debate of ours before I ended up saying something I wouldn’t be able to rescind.
“What we can do, Ms. Bell, is credit your next statement for a full month of service. Which I think is very fair considering the fact that the problem just started happening this week.”
“So, what you sayin’? That my bill for October won’t have no balance?”
She was sounding more pleasant already. Ghetto, nevertheless, but pleasant. What I wished was that someone would carjack her.
“That’s correct. Your bill won’t show any charges due until November.”
“I don’t know why you ain’t offer me that in the first damn place.”
“Because we don’t normally credit customers a full month when they haven’t had a full month of problems.”
“Well, you should. Especially when there is so many other choices out there when it come to cell phones. That’s why my boo says he won’t touch y’all wit’ a ten-foot pole.”
See, this was the reason I agreed with Bill Cosby and the comments he’d made about black children of today. I despised Ebonics and I couldn’t help wondering what kind of parents had actually raised Ms. Taco Bell in the first place. I mean what kind of name was that anyway? Had her mother been watching a Taco Bell commercial and decided that it was the only name she could come up with?
And I wondered what kind of rules she’d been taught, too? What moral values? What family values? The importance of getting a proper education? It was all so degrading. Not just to the black race but to the human race as a whole.
“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” I asked.
“Well, after all the clownin’ you just made me do, some free minutes would be good. Five hundred to be exact.”
Incredible.
“Ms. Bell, once again, I apologize for your inconvenience, but I really have done all I can, regarding restitution.”
“Is that right? Well, then maybe I’ma need to go over your head, because apparently you ain’t got the authority to help me with the rest of my concerns.”
“You know what, Ms. Bell, you do whatever you think is best. And to make it easy on you, I’ll transfer you to my supervisor right now. His name is Thomas Kennedy.”
I clicked the phone and dialed the number.
“Tom Kennedy,” he said.
“Tom, I’ve got a real live one on the phone for you today. I’ve been dealing with her for almost twenty minutes and Renee was on with her before that. She complained about multiple dropped calls, and after listening to her curse at me more than a few times, I eventually gave her a full month of credit, thinking that would shut her up. But it didn’t. And now she wants free minutes to go along with it.”
“What’s the length of her contract?”
“Two years.”
“What’s her payment history like?”
“She’s had her service suspended three times already.”
Tom sighed because it was common knowledge at our company that customers who never seemed to pay their bill on time always had a list of things to complain about.
“Well, chances are she’s not getting any free minutes,” he said.
I couldn’t help laughing. “I wish I could be on the phone when you tell her that, because when you do, she’ll be calling you every vicious name she can think of.”
“Maybe, but that’s just the way it is. You can let her through now if you want.”
I connected the call.
“Ms. Bell, I have Thomas Kennedy on the line, and he’ll be assisting you from here.”
“Good, because I’ve had more than enough of you anyway, Ms. Thing. I don’t usually be gettin’ down like this with people this early in the morning, but that little ignorant attitude of yours made me go there. I can’t believe you were so unprofessional.”
I dropped the phone on the base and did what that stress management instructor had told me to do a few weeks ago when I’d taken his half-day class. I breathed deeply, in and out, for an entire minute. Women like Tacquinisha Bell made me crazy. They made me want to tell them a number of things, words they would never forget. But to my disappointment, Telecom maintained that stupid recording procedure, and it, of course, had stopped me dead in my tracks on many occasions. You know the one where all customer calls are recorded for quality purposes? It was the one procedure that held my staff and me under hostage-like surveillance even when customers like Tacquinisha treated us like common criminals. They spoke to us any way they wanted to, knowing they could get away with it.
I leaned back in my plush leather chair, inhaling through my nose, exhaling through my mouth. I did this for a couple of minutes but now I was daydreaming about pizza. Romano’s was maybe three blocks away, but I could still picture everything on their menu without even seeing it. I could practically taste the onions, peppers, mushrooms, and extra sausage plastered on their deep-dish creation—so much so that I could barely contain myself.
In the end, however, I was ashamed. Ashamed of the way I longed for lots of food. The way I worshiped anything that could slightly fancy my taste buds. There was no denying that I was a compulsive overeater and I hated it. Sometimes I even hated myself and wondered why God had allowed me to be conceived in the first place.
I wondered why He had blessed my sister and my mother and even my two closest friends with normal-sized bodies, but had given me something more similar to Humpty-Dumpty’s. It just wasn’t fair and I wanted an explanation for it. Charisse insisted that I had no right questioning God and that I would burn in hell for doing it, but I needed some answers. I needed to know why I’d been chosen to carry such a tiresome and loathsome burden. Why I was chosen to walk around with 250 pounds of unattractive, well—blubber. Because there just wasn’t a better way to describe it.
After fantasizing about the delectable pizza I was going to devour in less than two hours, I signed off on a few vacation requests, reviewed yesterday’s incident report, and called Renee into my office. When she walked in I asked her to shut the door behind her.
She was wearing that fitted black dress of hers that made her look a lot slimmer than she actually was. But I wasn’t mad at her. A little envious maybe because she was fifty pounds lighter than me, but I didn’t mind that she’d learned a few tricks of the trade. Tricks that I went out of my way to execute daily with my own attire.
“What’s up?” she said.
“I don’t know about you, but after dealing with that witch Tacquinisha, I need a break.”
“Isn’t that the truth? She was truly a piece of work and as ghetto-fabulous as they come.”
“I tried dealing with her, but finally I gave her to Tom. Can you believe she wanted free minutes
after
I offered her a full month’s credit?”
Renee and I both laughed.
“It’s amazing how the customers who really do have valid complaints can be as cordial as can be and the ones who really don’t tend to act like fools,” she said.
“I know. But unfortunately, in customer service you get all kinds.”
“I knew from the moment I called up her account and saw that her name was Tacquinisha we were going to have problems.”
“Sad, isn’t it? I hate stereotyping anyone, but in this case, her name complimented her personality and her intellect. Which is too bad because people like her send the wrong message about any person who has been given a name that sounds black. I mean, not every person with a quote-unquote black name is illiterate. Some are very well educated and very intelligent.”
“That’s true, but a couple of weeks ago, one of the evening network shows did a special on names and they proved beyond a doubt that your name really can make a difference when it comes to getting a job.”
“Really?” I didn’t see it.
“Yep, there were two black women who sent out identical résumés to the same corporations, except one was named Amy and I think the other was named Kiesha. Anyway, after a period of time, Amy received calls one after the other, all day long, but Kiesha never received even one. Amy received so many calls that she became irritated with them.”
“Wow. And the thing is, it’s not just white people who pick up on names that sound black, because we do the same thing. We’ve all been conditioned to think the worst when we hear long and unusual names, almost like they’re foreign, and that’s the very reason my mother named me Whitney. I mean, who would ever guess that Whitney Todd is a black woman? And I promise you, if I have children, they’ll have ordinary names, too. You will never be able to guess who they are until you see them in person. And by then they’ll have a fair shot at giving a true first impression and the opportunity to discuss their overall qualifications.”
“I agree. But it’s unfortunate that we can’t be culturally inclined when we choose baby names.”
“Yeah, but it’s not even about culture. I mean if it’s an African name with some sort of special meaning, then I can understand it. But you and I both know that Tacquinisha is hardly African or any other nationality.”
Renee chuckled. “And let’s not forget about those babies who are named after certain types of liquor. Alize, Tequila, Cabernet. Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable is right. But girl, enough about that. What I wanna know is if you’re still thinking about having surgery.”
Renee and I chatted about weight-loss possibilities just about every single day, but recently she’d become extremely interested in the gastric bypass procedure. I was still somewhat hesitant, though.
“Yep,” she said. “I’ve been researching it more and more and my plan is to schedule a few consultations with maybe four or five doctors, probably next month.”
“It seems to be working for a lot of people. Plus you only need to lose fifty pounds, so that’s not nearly the same as me having to lose a hundred.”
“Yeah, but I think it could work for you, too. Especially since you don’t have any medical problems. I have high blood pressure and diabetes, so I need to take extra precautions just because of that.”
“Well, I do know one thing. I have got to lose this weight. Because more and more, it’s making me miserable. And I’m starting to feel like I don’t have a life outside of food and work. There are days that I do enjoy my work, but when it’s all said and done, food is my greatest pleasure. It’s the one thing that puts a smile on my face. Lately it has given me more enjoyment than any man has. And that’s a doggoned shame.”
“I know the feeling,” Renee agreed. “Roger pretty much only calls me when he wants sex or when he doesn’t have anything else better to do. And it’s so humiliating.”
“I know. I’ve been treated that way so many times that I can’t even count them.”
“And that’s why I’m not putting this surgery off any longer. Our insurance will cover most of it, so once I find a doctor who thinks I’m a good candidate, I’m going for it. I’ll be thin in a matter of months, and I’ll finally know what it’s like to have people treat me with a certain amount of respect and have men truly be attracted to me.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “Although I gotta say that I still want men to like me for me and not just because of the way I look. I want them to love me as a person. My mother never showed me that. I’ve never known my father, and my sister doesn’t love anyone except herself.”
“Not me. I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be beautiful and have men raving over me. I want them to notice me as soon as I walk into a room and then take me straight to their bed if they want to. I want them to want me simply because I look that good.”
I didn’t bother responding because Renee’s mind was already made up. We both wanted to lose weight, but we wanted it for different reasons. Renee wanted to attract as many men as possible even if they didn’t care anything about her, because she had this dire need to feel gorgeous. I, on the other hand, wanted to attract decent men who would love me unconditionally and I terribly wanted to feel better about myself. I wanted to know what it was like to walk up even one flight of stairs without gasping profusely and trying to catch my breath. I wanted to know what it was like to shop in the regular misses department.