I hadn’t been on campus since the beginning of Lockdown. The crowds of oddly-dressed, smoking youths were gone, replaced by security guards, cleaners, and we the phone pigs. I stood in the gaping entranceway for a few minutes while the lady behind the desk checked I was supposed to be there. I’m not sure what advantage there is to be gained by sneaking into an empty university building, but the lady and her two moody male colleagues were there to prevent that from happening.
Familiar cosmetic measures were in place; face mask signs, hand sanitisers, large plexiglass screens. Signs for a one-way walking system were hanging on the walls in preparation for the coming semester. Signs that will be ignored the moment they cause the slightest inconvenience. I took the stairs up to the third floor, taking note of the closed shutters blocking off the library and the series of dark, empty classrooms
Before my shift I took my mandatory trip to the toilet. My bladder has ADHD. There were white plastic sheets stretched over the urinals with ‘DO NOT USE’ printed on them. The hand-dryers didn’t work and there was no soap in the dispensers. I had to make do with using the tissue from the stalls to dry my hands with, and spent too long picking those sodden white specks off my hands This almost made me late. I was about to make an indispensable contribution to the continuing of higher education in the Birmingham area.
Myself and several others were placed in a room with terrible reception and given the cheapest phones I have seen in years. Lists of names and phone numbers were placed in front of us. Also, a manual containing any pertinent information we may need to dispense. The manual contained a script to begin the calls with.
“Hello, this is James calling from Birmingham City University. Is this xxxx speaking? . . . Nice to speak to you. This is just a quick call to see if you have any questions before you begin your course. . . “
Half of my calls went straight to voicemail, in which case I had to recite another, longer script containing email addresses and websites. Of those who answered most wanted to know about their timetables, which have not been finalised. Others were waiting for confirmation of their enrolment, a few wanted financial advice, and there was a scattering of miscellaneous enquiries I had no idea how to deal with. If I couldn’t find the information in the pack I consulted blurry memories of my own induction from last year, which were probably of little relevance. If I couldn’t cobble anything together from the aforementioned resources I asked my supervisors. They were efficient at diverting the students elsewhere.
My first day on the phone farm went quickly enough. On the second and final day I was forty minutes in before the evil thoughts started nudging my brain. Four-and-a-half hours ahead stretched into eternity. I started huffing and puffing. It took considerable effort to return to a reasonable state of mind. For distraction I focused on one name and one number at a time and tried to resist checking the time.
After my break I became slightly annoyed by some of my fellow pigs who stopped calling the numbers and were chatting amongst themselves. I support their right to slack off, I just wish they hadn’t had their banal conversation so close to me. It is difficult to bullshit a solution to somebody’s accommodation problem with a crowd bemoaning the rising price of hummus two feet away. That being said, the young oinkers seemed a pleasant bunch, if unremarkable.
I volunteered for the phone farm as part of a larger scheme that will hopefully bulk my CV and provide other, less numbing opportunities at a later date. I will never work the phones again. Two shifts. Five hours each. Full-timers scoff at those numbers. But I’m not a full-timer. Those ten hours disrupted my personal schedule, which I resented. This does not bode well for any future aspirations in the ‘real world’.
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