I Am Jack

It has been two months now since I've started working in the "corporate world" for a "corporate account" in a call center hired by a "corporate client." In these two months that I've been living, working, and burning brows among the legion of the night, I have these experiences to thank for:

1. Having my first salary from a first "formal" job

2. Having my first payslip and looking glazedly at my name on it and the words saying: employee

3. Taking my first call and experiencing what they call "fright night." I am not boasting by any means when I say I am more than well versed in English, but when I took that first "live" call, all the English words in my vocabulary dried up and if I could've just said "habla español?" I would've.

4. Having that dreaded disease of ending phone conversations with: is there anything else that I can help you with?

5. Thumping myself on the head when I stupidly say to customers wanting to cancel their accounts: I'll be more than happy to assist you with that sir/mam! wtfbbq? Jao: inifinitely negative on retention phrases

6. Laughing to myself while forgetting that I haven't switched the mute button and then telling the customers when they asked: what? with: cough, cough. sorry sir/mam if you could hear my seatmate. mic's awfully sensitive.

7. Telling customer's who are impatiently waiting with these stupendically, idiotic words: thank you for patiently waiting sir/mam, please bear with me, I'm almost -- uhh -- almost -- there?!? duh!! Thank you Jao! Wham! Bam! Give me a tissue please!

8. Bearing with customers who belittle you the moment they notice you're not from their shores. Suddenly, the word "bigot" held a new meaning for me.

9. I watched Fight Club again, and suddenly I understood Edward Norton's character, the schizoprenic genius Jack/Tyler Durden's words: I Am Jack's Complete Lack of Surprise. I Am Jack's Smirking Revenge.  I Am Jack's Inflamed Sense of Rejection. You are not your job...you are not how much money you have in the bank...not the car you drive...not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Suddenly, I understood Jack's dead voice, mouthing over and over: we are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. And I have become one of them. Even cringing when I got absent for one day, on a day I most deservedly needed to be absent bec. I was sick. When back before, my classmates would've considered me to be sick if they see me present in class.

10. I watched Snatch again (before Fight Club) (and yeah, it was a movie marathon) when I felt what I've long felt before. I was born to do this. Screenplays. In my head, hundred of unwritten screenplays pile up, awesome shit that would've blown anyone away have they seen what was reeling on my mind. Whilst I was hearing Snatch's dialouge, I was like: fuck. This is the shit I live for. The words Replica and Desert Eagle point five-oh echoe in my mind. And I ask myself, how long will I stay with my "Replica" and pick up my "Desert Eagle point-five-oh?"

Only a friend can tell. And he has only till next year to do so. Wether or not I be great in my lifetime or not isn't a question. I will be great. Let my words judge me for what I am worth.

I am ready to be judged.

I am Jack's unfulfilled obssession. The all-sighing, all-dreaming, unacting schmuck of the world. And if there isn't anything else I can help you with today, thank you for ringing me up and giving me new light about America, have a very fucking wonderful weekend my dear readers!

I will never ever dial another toll-free number as long as I live.