I work at a computer helpdesk. And sometimes, the base corporate politics of my job really get me down. I helped this guy today who had gotten lost in the sticky, blood-stained cracks. He called because he had been told he had a dial-in ID. A few months prior, they had given him a laptop. He had barely mastered turning on the laptop when they decided he should be able to dial in to check his e-mail from home. His cup ran over.
The part that really fucked him up was his complete lack of understanding. He barely knew what a modem was, let alone if it was resident, inserted or operational. I was suddenly trapped in a surreal universe where I was trying to describe how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to someone who had never seen bread. Or held a knife. I tried my best to help him. But when I spoke, he did not understand. And when he spoke, I did not understand. My heart went out to Peace Corps translators everywhere.
By this time, I was pretty frustrated. I just wanted to get him off the phone. I couldn't handle his inane questions. I couldn't deal with his stupidity. The smack had to go down.
I finally gave him a pat, ingrained answer: Call the training department. You need help, man.
This is the part where the conversation went horribly wrong:
He lost all pretense of respectability. He told me about how there was no training department. He told me a story of the last time he tried to get something done:
"They told me the person I needed to talk to was someone I had worked with for years. I didn't even know she dealt with that form. And she didn't... She shuffled it off onto someone else, who gave it to somebody else, who told me to call someone, who told me to call someone else, who told me he couldn't help me. And then I gave up."
My black heart melted. I sensed his fragility. His soul had been damaged by the unstaunchable machine of corporate America. And he had nothing left.
I knew that I could help him if I was standing right next to him. I was the keeper of all unknowable secrets. I was the guarder of foreign truths. I wanted more than anything to share these things with him, but I knew I couldn't do it over the phone.
So I broke every rule there is and I had a real conversation with him. I told him that I felt the same way. I told him that I was sorry that he couldn't receive any training. I was truly sorry that the onsite techs where he worked were dicks. I gave him a piece of myself in the form of empathy. And for once, it was truly appreciated.
It ended with me fibbing a little and sending a case to the onsite dicks. They refuse to take cases that are obviously training issues, but this guy needed help. He really, really needed help. So I made it sound like his modem was broken. And it could have been. He couldn't follow my instructions to run a diagnostic on it. So it must have been.
I told him to make sure he was there when they showed up so he could ask them some questions. Maybe they'll bother to answer them. I don't have much hope, but it's better than nothing.
And so it ended. But I learned something. That sometimes, if you can get past frustration and irritation and sarcasm, you can really try to help someone. It might not work out, but you tried your best. And that's important.
Really.