Not Now, I Have a Headache

It’s 4:45 pm on a Saturday. It’s mid-October and the weather is perfect. A typical Carolina afternoon: 72 degrees, clear skies and a gentle breeze coming from the East. Yet, I’m stuck in a cubicle the size of a cheap airline seat and we are not moving.

I work for a major insurance company as a “Direct Sales Professional,” which is a fancy way of saying I do phone sales. This company prides itself in telling their customers that they are “taken care of.” I’m hesitant to use their actual marketing phrase, in case one of their top suits might be reading this essay. If one of you is reading, could we please have bigger cubes? Or at least give us some peanuts and a Coke to make our working experience more passable.

I feel my body has been telling me for months that this job is hazardous for my health. I work second shift, 2:30 to 11:00 pm, and have a 45-minute commute, which makes falling sleep before 2:00 am impossible. The fact that my almost terrible two-year-old daughter usually wakes me and my wife up around 7:30 in the morning makes flipping burgers nine to five a wise alternative.

Since I’ve been sleep-deprived for a few months, my immune system has gotten used to this lingering cold I’ve been nursing for a couple weeks now. This stubborn malady punishes me with a vicious headache with horrifying punctuality around four in the afternoon almost daily, especially on Saturdays.

The thing I like the most about this job is talking to my customers on the phone and coming up with creative small talk while they scramble to find their VIN number. The thing I dislike the most about it is having to talk to my customers on the phone on a Saturday---with a headache.

There should be a college class called: “How to Buy car Insurance over the Phone.” The whole quote and bind process takes about 25 minutes, but the amount of questions I have to ask my customers is downright excessive and intrusive. By the time we’re finished, I’m qualified to offer them a job, or ready to turn them in. I must confess that before I started working here six months ago, I knew nothing about insurance. My average customer knows even less. However, it’s not their fault since there’s nothing exciting about remembering your current policy number, or figuring out how many miles you drive to work one-way.

As my mind drifts away in between calls, another call brings me back to reality. I envy those who enjoy the great outdoors on this gorgeous day, while I contemplate the smallness of my cube, fumble some Aspirin, and pray for 11:00 to come soon.

“Thank you for calling. . .”