The so-called "job" here was honestly ridiculous.
Customer service, they called it.
In reality, the work mostly consisted of patiently listening to angry customers complain about everything imaginable.
"My water heater broke after one week!"
"The cabinet you installed is crooked!"
"My brand-new toilet has a crack!"
That sort of thing.
Our task was simple: listen politely, say a few comforting lies, write down their information, then forward the problem to another department so someone else could deal with it.
That was it.
Easy, right?
Well… easy for people like Camille, who had a naturally gentle personality and a flexible tongue when it came to sweet-talking strangers.
For someone like me, however, the job felt like torture.
***
The first call came in less than ten minutes after I sat down.
A furious old man exploded through the receiver.
"What kind of garbage desk did your company sell me? I bought it one week ago and the wooden layer is already peeling off! Are you people running a scam over there?"
My first instinct was to shout back:
What the hell do you mean I sold it to you? It's my first day here, you old geezer!
But then I remembered I was in an office, not a nightclub.
So I forced my voice into a gentle tone.
"Sir, could you please give me your address? We'll send someone to inspect it tomorrow. If there's any damage, we'll repair or replace it for you."
After delivering that entire speech against my conscience, I leaned back in my chair and let out a long breath.
Being polite like that was more exhausting than a fistfight.
Camille glanced at me and giggled.
"Wow, Miguel. You're surprisingly smooth with words."
I looked at her with tired eyes.
The amount of time I'd spent talking to women in bed was probably equal to her entire age. Being praised for my "smooth talking" by her felt almost insulting.
***
Fortunately, not every call involved yelling old men.
The third call of the morning turned out to be… much more pleasant.
A soft female voice drifted through the phone.
"Hello… is this the customer service department of Santos Trading Corporation?"
Now that was a voice worth listening to.
If every customer sounded like that, I would gladly work here for free.
Instantly forgetting about my responsibilities, I leaned closer to the receiver.
"Yes, it is," I said warmly. "This is Miguel speaking. I must say, hearing such a lovely voice this early in the morning really brightened my day. May I ask your name?"
The girl on the other end laughed softly.
"My name is Gianna. But your customer service is kind of unusual. If your staff always talks like this, I might start wishing my appliances break more often… just so I can call you again."
Cold sweat slid down my back.
Was this woman flirting with me… or trying to trap me?
I loved teasing women, but when someone responded too enthusiastically, it made me nervous.
I immediately switched to a professional tone.
"Please don't misunderstand. This is simply part of our company's customer care policy. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"Well…" she said sweetly. "The water heater I bought from your store doesn't seem to work. I keep turning it on, but the water is still cold."
Her voice was so charming that it felt almost suspicious.
For a moment I almost said, Then come over to my place and shower here.
But I barely managed to stop myself.
"Please give me your address," I said instead. "I'll arrange for our maintenance team to come check it."
There was a pause.
Then she asked innocently:
"Oh? I thought you would come personally. You can't fix it yourself?"
More sweat.
What kind of customer was this?
I was tempted to tell her that my body naturally produced water at thirty-seven degrees Celsius—but unfortunately, the quantity was limited.
Instead, I coughed awkwardly.
"I'm only responsible for receiving calls. The maintenance department handles repairs. I'll forward your request to them tomorrow."
She giggled again.
Writing down her address felt like completing a military mission.
By the time I finished typing her information into the system, I had probably lost half a liter of sweat.
And then—
Angela's cold voice cut through the air beside me.
"You're supposed to listen to customer complaints, not flirt with them."
I turned my head slowly.
She was staring at me with obvious irritation.
"Next time," she continued, "drop that kind of tone. This is customer service, not a dating hotline. Just because the caller is female doesn't mean you have to lose your mind."
My irritation instantly flared up.
For a moment, I considered ripping open my ridiculous office shirt to reveal my perfectly sculpted Roman statue body, then walking out dramatically without looking back.
But the image of my father's furious face flashed in my mind.
So I sighed.
"Alright, Angela. It won't happen again."
***
To be honest, this job was probably the easiest office job imaginable.
The only problem was the schedule.
Someone always had to stay in the room to answer calls.
Even on weekends.
After all, appliances didn't conveniently break during office hours.
Life would have been too simple if they did.