Donovan got me the job. I had said I was looking and he said he knew they had a spot to fill. I drove out for the interview and they said they wanted me on board and yay! I was hired.
I had to take a drug test, but I had been studying so it wasn’t a big deal.
What was a big deal was my car overheated on the way home from the interview. Phil’s mom was kind enough to give me a ride out for the test. This was the same time Phil and I were getting married, so there was a lot of crap going on. Well, maybe a week before the actual wedding. Compucom had already agreed to give me the Monday following the wedding off. For the most part, they were a good company to work for.
For me, it wasn’t the job site as much as it was the actual job. We were working a corporate help-desk for AT&T and my god! those people. I’m amazed they remembered to breathe.
“I can’t get my e-mail.”
“I can’t update my McAfee.”
“I can’t print.”
All day long. 80 calls a day. Day in day out. Always the same issues. Always the same people. Always the same fix and don’t break it again, thank you.
By April of 2000 I was breaking down. I knew it. I missed work one day because I couldn’t stop crying. I wanted to kill people. Really. I wanted to take a little road trip and just start killin’.
There were little rays of sunshine, though.
Donovan and I yukked it up for a while, but he got himself fired, the bastard.
Michael Stack and I found new ways to goof off in the evenings, but he quit, the bastard.
Strider only worked late nights and weekends, so I never got to see him, the bastard.
Terry was an amusing guy. Terry had been in a car accident during his high-school days and we now wheelchair bound. (Actually, he found the car from the accident, washed and waxed it, and had it towed over to the driver’s house. “Brought you your car.”) He’d use the wheelchair to win bar fights (who’s going to hit him?) and had just about ever computer certificate under the sun. “I couldn’t play sports; what was I supposed to do with my life? Being handicapped is expensive.”
One day, Terry asked me how I did it. How did I take 80 calls a day. How did I get the stats and the good ticket reviews and the great call reviews and not just loose it.
“I stopped caring.”
But that’s not true. I did care and it was hurting me. I tried slacking off a bit and not taking as many calls, but I had already set the precedent and management wanted to know what was wrong. Eventually, I had to ask for a vacation. I had been there a year. I deserved a week at least.
When I got back from vacation, my supervisor was gone. Apparently he wasn’t just fired, he was escorted to the door. To this day, I don’t know why it happened, but I suspect he stood up for someone and was shot down for it.
Dart had joined Phil over at ASD Systems, now Ascendant Solutions, and wanted an assistant in the tech-writing biz. I said I’d be happy to join (anything to get away from the phones) and zapped a resume over.
I remember the interview was at a Starbuck’s in Plano, on a Saturday. It seemed very informal, but I would now be making $38K yearly, so I wasn’t about to start complaining.
And then I got the official letter in the mail that yes, they wanted me over there.
I turned in a week’s notice at CompuCom. More notice than I’ve ever given anyone.