I wait for an unknown number to light up my cellphone screen, but nothing happens. Then she hangs up and my next caller is on, asking me about haircare products and flammability around tiki-torches. I swallow whatever response I thought I’d come up with and simply tell her, “If it’s close to your house, yes, go lock your doors.” “But what about the silhouette?” She asks after a minute. “There’s got to be a better way of doing this. Instead, I give her my cellphone number, rattling off the digits, hoping my supervisors aren’t listening in. On b582’s hundredth call, I refuse to answer her question about fearing the inhuman silhouette standing on her street corner. cares about customer privacy, and, if we were to pass b582 onto another service, we would be losing the fifty dollars per call, and that certainly isn’t in the business plan. My supervisor writes back that of course there is no way to contact b582.
#BLEEP RECORDS PROFESSIONAL#
Īfter a month, I email my boss asking if I can get in touch with b582 to give her the number for a healthcare professional or therapist that may be better equipped for her questions than an ex-barista with a sociology degree. To each question, given the times we live in, I say No it is completely normal to worry about X,Y, and Z as long as it doesn’t rule your life. “Is it normal to worry about what’s coming for me?" “Is it normal to fear the water coming from the tap?” “Is it crazy to believe your landlord is trying to kill you?” Her daily questions morph from outward concerns to inner. The next day she asked, “If my landlord is trying to poison me, how would I know?”Īfter consulting a poison control Google search, I said, “You would feel light-headed and nauseous.”
Finding none, I said “No, the air in your home is clean.” I listened for the bleep of CO detectors. “Is the air in my apartment toxic?” she asked on her first call. At least that’s what her one sentence a day conveys. I imagine she’s in her thirties, short hair, eyes baggy from sleep. I rarely get the same caller twice, except b582 that is. Employees get a twenty percent discount, but rent is steep. If I had money, maybe I’d use the service. There are too many options these days, too many lives you can live, and none of them feel right. Should they get a face tattoo? How many cats is too many cats for their condo? Which is the best day of the week to bring up divorce to their blindsided spouse? I can see the allure. It helps me answer, to humanize the anonymous caller numbers and blurred-out headshots.įor fifty dollars, clients log on to have someone else make their decisions. Early forties, grays coming in at the roots. Strictly based on life expectancy, your brother.
They are paying for a one sentence reply, so one sentence is what they get.Īnything over fifty miles and you’ll seem like an axe murderer. I can’t delve into which relative Asker C is closest with, which attended more of her high school drama performances, which calls on her birthday. If I can only afford to buy my father’s diabetes medication or my brother’s diabetes medication, whose should I buy? How far is too far to drive for a Tinder date before I look like a creep? Is a Pomchi the right breed of dog for me? I’m confined to the beanbag chair my parents let me take from my childhood bedroom, the faux leather slightly sticky beneath my back. Every light is off in my basement apartment, the scent of microwaved Biryani filling the cramped space. The screen illuminates my face as I hunch over the keyboard.
#BLEEP RECORDS MAC#
For thirty-two fifty an hour, my old Mac does the job.
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