The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Full Jelly Alchemist

Harold was sitting idly at the breakfast table. A bare piece of toast lay on the plate before him. It represented everything today would be; bland, flat, coarse.

Today was Harold's first day back to school after the brief respite of summer. Today would be a day of awkward shyness. A day of pecking orders being established between students and faculty, as well as among students and students. Harold stared at his glass of orange juice, this crucial part of today’s balanced breakfast was nearly at its bottom. This visual only served to remind Harold where he fell in his school’s hierarchical rolls.

“Harry, eat something, your going to starve.”

Harold blew a long strand of hair from his face in a huff. He didn’t need to look at his rotund frame to know that statement would be a long time coming, before it came true. “I’m not hungry Mom.”

Mom sighed, making a brief trek to the fridge. When she returned to the table a plastic container of margarine and a glass jar of grape jelly suddenly appeared. “Eat,” Mom commanded.

Harold smiled as Mom turned her back, busying herself with the mundane tasks of an adult. Whispering to himself alone, Harold recited, “Just the ingredient I need for my potion, at my thoughts you’ll heed my every notion…”

Harold’s eyes focused on the jelly jar, and before him a thin tendril of purple began to climb up the inside of the jar. Worm-like it pushed itself up and over the jar’s lip, past those ridges where the cap screws on, and down the outside of the glass.

Harold watched this spectacle unfold, but quickly glanced at his mother. As he did so the thin cylindrical mass of grape jelly became motionless. When Harold was satisfied Mom was still preoccupied with her grown up distractions, the jelly-worm formed a thin concave mouth and a tiny arm, complete with a three-fingered hand. With it, the glob of jelly smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to Harold. Harold returned both the smile and the gesture in kind.

Harold then winked and the grape worm wiggled and swayed, grew and twisted into a baseball player. Though roughly the size of a G.I. Joe, the grape ballplayer was a brute of a man, with a chest like a barrel and a large broad bat. The ballplayer stood, chest heaving as if he were living and breathing there on Harold’s kitchen table.

Harold reached over him, with what by comparison was the hand of a giant. He dunked two fingers inside the jelly jar, retrieving a generous glob of the purple substance. The ballplayer watched as Harold sat the hand that contained the jelly on the surface of the table. Looking at the tiny jelly ballplayer he held his free hand over the jelly-smeared fingers on his opposite hand. He made a balling, rolling motion and the jelly, now molded like clay, did the same. Harold repeated this process a few times over.  A few seconds passed and there sat three miniscule, gelatinous baseballs.

The ballplayer nodded knowingly. He readied his bat, shimmied and lined up his hips, tapping the head of the bat against the tabletop, and against his grape-jelly formed cleats.

With a flick of his fore finger and his thumb, Harold “threw” the first diminutive purple ball towards the matching ballplayer without ever touching it. The ballplayer swung, arching his head upwards to see past the brim of his little hat, and watched intently as the jelly baseball flew across the open air of the table, arched high, and then landed with a splat-pat on top of Harold’s toast. In succession, the following two jelly-balls found their mark as well.

“Thanks,” again, Harold found himself smiling at the little guy.

“Harold,” Mom began to turn around, “have you finished eating yet? That bus is probably barrelin’ around the corner right now.”

Mom turned quickly, but paused just long enough to check the clock. Harold had to act. With a grimace, and a short wave Harold said goodbye to the ballplayer. Instantly, the caricature of an athletic baseball player sunk into an unrecognizable patty shape. And then disappeared, seeming to fall right through, rather than off, the table itself.

The succinct but groaning horn of the bus driver signaled it was time for Harold to leave.

Harold wolfed down the now jelly covered toast. “Love ya Mom,” he hugged her at the waist and trotted out the door. With his backpack slung around him Harold went through the front door. He felt like he was an adventurer preparing for a long expedition.

*

Back in the kitchen, Mom removes Harold’s plate from the table and sits it in the sink. When she returns to retrieve the jelly jar and the butter she sees something beneath the table. She kneels to get a closer look.

Mom’s eyes narrow and she finds herself staring at a blob of grape jelly. Although its perimeter indicates the foodstuff was dropped from quite a height, she thinks she can make out a rough shape in spite of its messiness.

“Hmm, kinda looks like a little guy with a bat, maybe a baseball player...”

Call Center: Take Two

            I was heading into work last week and saw a kid (I can say kid because he was closer to eighteen than twenty one, and I am closer to forty than thirty, both of these things are sad in their own way). Anyway, he had on a t-shirt that read “Carpe Diem”- this is absolutely true. I asked him if he was trying to be ironic. He said he didn’t know – for his part, probably also true.

            I did start me down a path of thought. See both of us are employed in a call center. Yes you know, one of those tall office buildings where a bunch of drones with headsets attempt to talk to regular people about a whole myriad of things. Perhaps you haven’t paid your bills, maybe you just got into a car accident, or it could be that you’re overburdened by money, and someone is desperately trying to sell you something.  Me, I work in tech support, employed by a vendor company that I can’t mention,  for a primary company I can’t name, that supports products I can’t freely talk about.

            Confidentiality. You understand, I’m sure. Rest assured, whatever it is I may or may not do, it doesn’t involve national defense, or require security clearance. However, there are lots of problems with this job.

This gentleman is showing call center managers where they can stick it to their employees.

            The main thing is, I’ve already done all this before. I mean I’ve been at this for a month now, and all I can think about is how everyone I’ve been introduced to I’ve either met before, and / or done their job in a previous job of my own. In my training class there was the know-it-all (not me this time, more on that in a bit), the trainer, the hip one, the professional, the manager, the burnout, the person that can’t be bothered to take anything seriously (also not me), the team lead, the immature one, the conspiracy guy, the section manager, the loud mouth (sorry, still not me), and a few others.

            Before I get into where I fit in with all of these caricatures, let me give you some insight on the type of company we are dealing with…

            …We started the class with 23 souls, by day two we had lost two people. They just vanished; no one knows what became of them. By the end of week 1,  two more had dropped, one for sleeping in class, and one that was fired for having “court” and missing too much of the “training”. In week 2, two more people were terminated for dozing during class, and one for attendance on that Monday. He just showed up at lunch on day 6, with no explanation, and no phone call. Midweek of week 2 a few more dropped, one of which was due to DCS taking her kids (or that’s what she told me). No judgment here, DCS takes a lot of kids, or so I’ve heard.  The other two were let go because of cell phone use in class. This particular employer thinks the world will end if a cell phone comes in close proximity to a work computer. That brought us to week three when two of the people in class decided they needed to fight one another. Perfectly normal, and professional workplace behavior, right? However, I suspect because we had lost so many people they let it slide. Two days later these two were at it again, one of them terminated because he had been deemed instigator. Finally, on the last day of training, again another person vanished, and another failed to complete an exam we needed to pass in order to remain employed. By the end of the three week training we were down to nine.

            And then there was me. Again, having done all this before, I wasn’t sure if this particular place was where I needed to be, I still am not sure, if I’m being honest. My perspective is at least different. I’m not the know-it-all, or the class clown, or even the loud mouth.

            It’s much worse. I’m the old guy. And by old, I mean oldest actually. And that’s only because two of the sleepers that were fired had waved bye-bye to fifty years old long ago. I wear glasses in class, I check CNN instead of Snapchat on my breaks, and God help me, I contribute to the general goings-on during class! Sadly, this is the only part of this experience that is new. I find it hard to relate to my whippersnapper classmates, and harder still to relate to the members of management I’ve met. Notably, I have left out my previous career accolades, as I didn’t want to intimidate anyone. At least I’m the socially awkward one, a role that I am used to, and can carry well.

            Clearly, I am less than thrilled with this job. So is it the fact I’m starting at the bottom all over again? Possibly, I take issue with the job because of its menial, repetitive nature? Perhaps, it’s because I lack the passion for the work. Or maybe, just maybe it’s because it’s a call center.

            Someone once told me that call centers are places where dreamers weep and creativity goes to die. If that’s true, I’ve both wiped my tears, and come back from the dead. Unfortunately, now feel like I’m marching right back down that path to the slaughterhouse.

            Also, do you hear that ringing? Somebody answer that damn phone! Oh wait, that’s my job…