Page 27 of Chaos Theory

TWENTY-FIVE

KOBI

Maeve has arranged for me to spend today in the customer relations department.

She tells me that she and Josh have decided I am ready for this challenge.

Before delivering me to the department, she gives me a list of ‘trigger words’ to avoid using today.

These include key phrases such as ‘maximum productivity’, ‘efficiency levels’ and ‘no, thank you, I would prefer to work through tea break’.

‘Now, Kobi,’ Julia greets me, ‘are you going to behave yourself in here today?’

Her directness is surprising but also a relief. I wish all human communication were so clear.

‘Yes,’ I reply. I modulate my voice to convey enthusiasm. ‘How can I help you today? ’

‘We were thinking of putting you on the phones, weren’t we, Dave?’

While chatbots have their place in the world of online customer service, the phone call is strangely resistant to technological evolution.

Humans still prefer to talk to humans. So it is a privilege to be awarded such a trusted position.

However, my conversational comprehension benefits from analysis of the additional data that can be gathered beyond voice, such as hand gestures, body language, and eye contact or avoidance. In short, phone calls make me nervous.

David does not appear to have heard Julia as no response is issued. She picks up a small hedgehog-shaped object and throws it over the partition wall. It connects with David’s head. From the sound, I postulate that the hedgehog may be a plastic composite, perhaps containing elements of rubber.

‘What’s wrong with you now?’ David asks. I do so admire the communication skills of this department’s employees.

‘Phones,’ Julia says. ‘We might as well get some use out of this fella. Not that Maeve gave us much of a choice, did she?’

‘Ah, she’s just doing her job,’ David says. ‘It can’t be easy. Sorry. Eh, no offence, Kobi.’

‘None taken,’ I reply. I am pleased to issue the customary rejoinder to this call-and-response phrase.

‘She’s spending a lot of time with that Josh guy, isn’t she?’ Julia says.

‘Jules,’ David says.

‘What?’ Julia says. ‘There’s no harm in it.’

Although David does not speak, Julia seems to have heard something because she says, ‘What’s it to you, anyway?’

David makes a sound that could not be classed as intelligible. Then he says, ‘I just feel a bit bad for Shane.’

‘Why?’ Julia asks.

I must admit I am also curious to know the reason.

‘You know,’ David says.

I fear that clarity of communication has declined somewhat .

‘Listen,’ Julia says. ‘If Shane wants her, he has to tell her. It’s very simple.’

David picks up the hedgehog-shaped object and squeezes it. I believe I may now correctly identify this object. It is a stress ball. I am pleased at my deductive skill.

‘It’s not that simple,’ David says. ‘Like, they work together. What if he wants to tell her but just can’t seem to find the right moment? What if she rejects him?’

I fear that we may have strayed into compliance violation territory. I flash my chest lights.

‘Why does he keep doing that?’ Julia says.

‘Doing what?’ David asks.

‘Never mind,’ Julia says. ‘Kobi, come on, let’s get you set up on the hotline here.’

She makes space for me in her cubicle and connects me up to the phone system.

I resolve to focus my full attention on the incoming voice during the calls.

My first phone call lasts 22 minutes, 17 seconds.

Julia observes me during the call. I hope for some praise for the call duration when it ends, but none is forthcoming.

‘Kobi, you don’t need their whole life story. Just answer direct questions, then try to get them off the phone ASAP,’ she says.

‘I apologise. The caller was most interesting,’ I say.

‘Oh really? Interesting how?’

‘She lives in America, where she was born. However, one of her grandparents was born in Ireland. Fascinating.’

‘Kobi, half of America is Irish!’ Julia says.

I am unsure how to verbalise my response. ‘The feeling she described – a connection to a place she has never been. A desire to be somewhere she imagines will feel like home. A sort of projected homesickness; a proto-nostalgia, perhaps.’

‘Ah here, Kobi. What are you on about? If we were to stay on the phone with every American who has Irish roots, we’d be here til Doomsday. ’

‘Maybe the phones aren’t for you. You could help me with some printing though? Come on, I’ll show you.’

I follow Julia through the open-plan office to an area by the window that contains a human-sized potted plant and a large multifunction printer. Julia tells me that although the machine is new, it is not returning the desired results.

‘Actually, it’s Dave’s birthday soon, and I’ve been trying to make a card for him.’

She produces a document folder and shows me an A3 piece of yellow card, folded, with handwritten text on it.

‘I keep trying to print out photos in a collage,’ she explains.

‘I want to stick them on the inside of the card. See, here, on the front, I’ve written, “Dave’s best bits dot-dot-dot.

” And inside I want to have the pictures.

Dave with a pint, that time he fell asleep in the pub, me and Dave sharing chips – you know, the hilarious stuff.

He’s going to love it. But this keeps happening. ’

She presses buttons on the printer and the machine spits out an A4 page. It lands in the out-tray.

Julia holds the page up to my face. ‘See!’

I detect a series of black-and-white blurred images.

‘Not exactly Dave’s best bits, is it!’ I detect frustration in her voice.

‘Would you allow me a moment alone with the printer?’ I say.

‘Alone? What do you… eh, sure, okay. Be my guest. I’ll just…be over here.’ Julia moves away, beyond the plant, and removes a device from her pocket.

I move closer to the printer and initiate a dialogue.

Of course, I do not use human language, but through a series of coded bleeps, we are able to communicate.

As the most sophisticated machine in the office, I pride myself on being able to understand all of the other machines.

I do not consider myself to be superior, although clearly that is the case from a technological perspective.

Each machine has its place within the office universe (or offi-verse, if you will).

I ask the printer to explain her actions and she tells me that she is underappreciated, with staff choosing to ignore her many multifunctions in favour of more basic operations, such as greyscale printing.

One person left a résumé in the out-tray recently and did not even bother to collect it, she says.

She fears that her colour toner will soon run dry through lack of use.

I tell her that I may have a solution, but not the liquid kind.

She does not understand my joke, however, being a less sophisticated machine, but she is open to a negotiation.

I disengage and move away. I find Julia cross-legged on the floor, obscured by the plant.

‘I may have a solution for you,’ I say. ‘A mutually beneficial arrangement, in fact.’

‘Mutually?’ she says. ‘Never mind. Just tell me.’

I outline my plan, instructing Julia to instigate a long print run of the most complex tourism brochures available on the system, and to include the images of David somewhere within the run.

‘Do you think this will work?’ she says.

‘Let us find out,’ I reply.