BY DANIELLE CORMIER
Copyright is held by the author.
THE PHONE was ringing, and Monty felt a combination of trepidation and hopefulness. Part of him hoped they didn’t answer so he could go on with the day’s routine and get to his other work. Part of him hoped they did so he could finally put this one behind him, place a checkmark beside it on the list. Figuratively anyway. Everyone knew you weren’t about to put a literal checkmark next to the name. After all, everything was computerized now.
The phone continued ringing, and he almost forgot why he was calling. It was background noise at this point. Just as he was about to hang up, the line connected.
“What do you want?” the voice said on the other end.
Not “hello” or “who’s calling,” but a question meant to get to the meat of the problem, straight to business. He could respect that. “Hello, is this Mr. Hanson?”
“Who’s asking?”
“This is Monty from the Data Exchange Clearinghouse —”
“The what? I don’t know any Monty.”
“I’m calling from the Data Exchange —”
“The dada what? Who is this?” The voice demanded a response although Monty wasn’t certain the person was actually listening to his answers.
“I’m calling from —”
“I’m not interested in what you’re selling.”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“I said I don’t need any whatever-it-is you’re selling. Not interested. Sorry. Have a nice day.”
Monty suspected the voice wasn’t actually wishing him a nice day but maybe the opposite. “I’m calling from the Prize Division of —”
“Prize?”
That caught his attention. “Yes, the Prize Division of the Data Exchange Clearinghouse.”
“What’s this about a prize?”
In the background Monty could hear someone repeating the question. A prize? What prize?
“I’m looking for Mr. Hanson,” Monty said.
“You’re speaking to him.”
“Mr. Charles Hanson?”
“No, this is Chuck.”
“Chuck?” Monty took a deep, cleansing breath. “Chuck Hanson?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Chuck Hanson, short for Charles Hanson?”
“Yeah, what of it.”
“Well, Mr. Hanson, this is your lucky day. We’ve been trying to reach you for the past five years.”
“Is this about a bill? I don’t owe anything.”
“No, it’s about a prize.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Someone entered your name in the Data Exchange Clearinghouse Sweepstakes five years ago, and your name was pulled as one of the prize winners in that year’s contest —”
“I didn’t enter any contest,” the voice claiming to be Mr. Hanson replied. “Is this some sort of scam?”
“No, sir, I’m calling to notify you that you’ve won —”
“I hope it’s a million dollars. Or a new truck. I could use a new truck.”
“No, it’s not —”
“It better not be some sort of trophy or ribbon or a freaking basket of scented candles.” Scented candles? The second voice in the background repeated. Oh, how lovely!
“No, there are no candles —”
“What’s your name again?” Mr. Hanson – Chuck – asked.
“Monty.”
“Monty,” he said. “That’s a funny name. What kind of name is Monty? Is it short for something?”
“Montgomery.”
“Mont gummery?” There’s laughter in the background. “I bet you got beat up a lot as a kid.”
“As I was saying, we’ve been trying to reach you to notify you about the prize you’ve won.”
“Why’s it taken you five years?”
“We’ve sent letters, but no one responded, and we’ve tried calling before, but this is the first time someone has answered the phone.”
“I ignore junk mail, and we screen all our calls.”
“There’s never been an option for leaving a voice message,” Monty replied with a hint of confusion in his voice. If there had been such an option when he called, he would’ve left a message. Policy dictated he had to reach an actual person, preferably the person they were trying to reach, or leave a message. If no one was reached or no message was left, the winner’s name would return to the queue to try again another day. After three messages, they could stop calling. The company had already stopped sending mail.
“I don’t like voice messages. I don’t like talking to people,” Chuck said. “People are stupid.”
Monty masked his laugh with a little cough. “Yes, well, I’d like to tell you what you’ve won and explain how to collect your prize.”
“Can’t you just mail it to me?”
“Yes, but first I have to —”
“It’s not a fruit basket, is it?” A fruit basket! The voice in the background echoed. Tell them I like apples the best!
“It’s not a basket of apples,” Monty said.
“Who entered me in this contest anyway? I wonder if it was one of the guys at work as a prank.”
“I, um . . .” Monty hesitated then typed a few key search terms into the database. “It looks like a Mrs. Crabtree —”
“Crab-apple?” Chuck scoffed. I want edible apples, the voice shouted. Not crab-apples! What am I going to do with crab-apples?
“It says here that Mrs. Josephine Crabtree — “
“Old lady Crab-apple tree?”
Monty continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “She entered your name in our sweepstakes. It was a random drawing, and — ”
“She drew something?”
“No, the sweepstakes was a —”
“So, wait, you pulled my name out of a hat or something?”
“N-no, not exactly —”
“How did you know Crab-apple put my name in?”
“Oh, part of the rules state your name must be given if you’re entering someone else without their knowledge.”
“Why.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said Why. Why do your rules say that?”
“It’s in case the person wants to refuse the prize —”
“Huh? So it is a prank.”
“No, sir, we’re the biggest and oldest sweepstakes in the country —”
“So, is the prize something like a cheetah or a crocodile? Or something useless like a banjo?”
“No! It’s not a — ”
“Or a crocodile that plays a banjo?” Chuck snickered.
“Whoever heard of — ? No, it’s a cash prize.”
“Cash money?”
“Yes.”
“Why would someone refuse that? Is the money stolen?”
“What? No.”
“Did Crab-apple rob a bank?”
“No!”
“I’m just pulling your leg there, Monty. No need to get yourself worked up. I just hope I’m not being paid in euros or those bitcoins. I don’t have use for either of them.”
Inhale. Exhale. “No, that’s not — “
“Hard currency, Monty. That’s what I like. Or maybe gold bullion. Or a new truck. I could really use a new truck. Although a cheetah might be cool, too.”
Monty muttered under his breath.
“What’s that, Monty?”
“You’ve won a cash prize of $100.”
“That’s not much.”
Inhale. Exhale. “You need to fill out the affidavit if you’d like to claim it.”
“Affy david? Does that mean you want my identify? You want to steal my identity?”
“No, it’s for legal and tax purposes.”
“You’re going to tax me for a measly $100?”
“We don’t collect the taxes. We simply award the prizes.”
“Great, well, when do I get my money, Monty?”
“After you fill out the affidavit — “
“I’m not filling out any daffodils.”
Monty paused a moment before starting again. “You can find the affidavit on our website, or we can mail you —”
“What’s on this daffadave, anyway?”
“— Simply return it within one month of this phone call —”
“Huh?”
Monty kept talking and hoped Chuck would not interrupt or ask him to explain anymore. He simply wanted to get this call over with. “Make sure to sign where it’s indicated on the form. If you’re filling it out on our website, an electronic signature is acceptable.”
“I don’t do electronics unless it’s a guitar. Are you sending me a guitar? Because I thought you said it was a hundred bucks.”
Monty paused. “If you’d like it deposited directly into your account, —”
“What account?”
“— then make sure to fill out your bank information on the form —”
“I’m not giving you my bank info! What do you take me for?”
“— Or indicate that you’d like us to mail a check.”
“What if it bounces? What then? You gonna send me cash, Monty? I’d rather not get a check in the mail. Just tell me where to meet you, and I’ll take the cash.”
“A check takes 7-10 business days from when we receive your completed affidavit, but direct deposit is faster —”
“I’ll take the direct cash deposit then.”
“— taking up to 48 hours to clear in your bank —”
“I don’t want to use my bank, Monty. I want you to deposit the cash directly with me. Direct deposit. In the palm of my hand.”
“That’s not what direct deposit means, Mr. Hanson.”
“Call me Chuck.”
“That’s not what direct deposit means, Chuck.”
“I know what direct deposit means, Monty. What I want to know is when I’ll get my money. Look, we’re friends here, right?”
Monty paused as a wave of confusion hit him. He let out what he hoped was another cleansing breath. “I’ll drop the affidavit in the mail to you. The website will be on the form if you prefer to — ”
“You’re mailing me daffodils?””
Keep it professional, Monty. “Thank you, Mr. Hanson, and congratulations on your —”
“I want to speak to your manager.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your manager. I want to escalate this call.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s right, Monty. I don’t think you do understand. I want to speak to your supervisor.”
“My supervisor.” Deep breath. “O-K . . . Sure. I’ll, um, transfer you to …”
Chuck laughed. “I’m pulling your leg, Monty! Geez, you’re so serious. Seriously serious. Lighten up, Monty.”
“Yes, OK . . . ?”
“We should meet for a beer.”
“Wait . . .What?”
“Meet me for a beer. I’ll pay.”
“I don’t … That’s not . . .”
“Just don’t forget to bring my money.”
“Don’t forget to . . .?”
“How am I gonna buy you that beer, bud, if you don’t give me my money?”
“I, uh ….”
“Do you have Crab-apple’s number? I’d like to thank her.”
“Mrs. Crab-apple? I mean, Crabtree? No, we don’t have — ”
“Too bad.” In the background the other voice informed them both that their old neighbour Mrs. Crabtree passed away a year ago.
“I’m sorry,” Monty said.
“Yeah, she was a nice old lady,” Chuck said in agreement. “She must have thought a lot about me. She put my name in for this contest.”
“Yes,” Monty said.
“She said I was like the son she never had.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, she always said that. I’d come home, and she’d shout over the hedge .. Hey, Chuck! You’re like the son I never had! .. She always wanted a son like me, you know?”
“OK.”
“Hey, Chuck! I wish I had a son like you! Geez, what a peach of an old lady that Crab-apple was.”
“Crabtree.”
“Right, that’s what I said. Say, Monty, do you have a truck for sale?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Truck. Monty, do you have a truck for sale? Keep up with the conversation.”
“N-no, I can’t say that I do.”
“Because I’ll buy it off of you.”
“But I don’t . . .”
“I’ve just come in to some money. Old lady next door – she was like a mother to me – she left me 100 bucks.”
“She left you . . .$100.” Exhale.
“Yeah, I’ll give you $100 for your truck.”
“I don’t drive a truck, Chuck.”
“Clever, Monty.”
“Clever?”
“Look, just keep the $100 and give me a new truck. I’d just be handing it back to you anyway.”
“I’m not following, Mr. Hanson.”
“Chuck. Call me Chuck.”
“I have to hang up now.”
“Instead of bringing me the $100 when we meet up for the beer and then having me hand it back to you for the truck, just keep the $100 and give me the truck.”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Hanson. Congratulations.” Monty hung up. He rubbed at his temples as he slowly exhaled. Then he hastily submitted his virtual checkmark for completing the call and requested an affidavit be sent out to Mr. Hanson. The rest of his day was rather mundane with a few excited recipients mixed in. Happy people on the other end of the line. Unlike Chuck.
At the end of the day his supervisor called him into his office for a meeting.
“Ooh, that’s not good,” his co-worker said.
“I completed a call with a five year prize winner today.”
“Holy guacamole, Monty! You rock!” the same coworkers said. “High five me, man.” His coworkers held up his hand and waited so Monty slapped it in a less than enthusiastic high five fashion. It was enough to satisfy the coworkers.
Monty got up and walked past the other cubicles to the supervisor’s office.
“Monty closed a fiver!” the coworkers shouted.
“Dude!” someone shouted back, and the cubicles erupted into scattered applause. Monty continued walking.
“Mr. Brennan,” he said as he walked inside the office, “you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, have a seat.”
Monty sat.
“I see you closed out an outstanding notification call.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ve been trying to contact him for …” Mr. Brennan looked at his monitor. “Five years.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s quite an accomplishment, Monty.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Glad we agree.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“A Mr. Hanson, was it?”
“Yes, Mr. Brennan.”
“Charles Hanson?”
“Yes, sir?”
His supervisor nodded. “I wanted to discuss that phone call with you because oddly enough, I received a phone call from a Mr. Charles Hanson not twenty minutes ago.”
“Y-yes, sir?”
“He said you offered him a new truck in exchange for his prize money.”
“No, sir, that did not happen. I did not say that.”
“He also said you offered to send his wife a fruit basket filled with crab-apples and a bouquet of daffodils.”
“What? No!”
“You called him Chuck and offered to buy him a beer while you go over the particulars of your transaction.”
“No, he insisted, insisted I call him Chuck, and he offered to buy me the beer . . .” Monty stopped speaking when he saw the expression on Mr. Brennan’s face. “That didn’t come out quite right.”
“He insisted?”
“Yes, and he’s the one who brought up … the, um, truck. It was his idea and — ”
“It was his idea about the truck.”
“Yes, sir, but I never said that I would …”
“But you agreed to meet him for a beer?”
“No, Chuck’s one crazy . . .I mean, Mr. Hanson is a customer, a prize winner, and we have a, umm, a reputation to —”
“Yes, Monty. A reputation.”
“Mr. Brennan, I would never . . .If you could’ve heard the conversation! I tried to be professional, sir. I really did, but he .. I don’t even … I can’t even .. The whole conversation .. I mean, I tried, sir, I really did.”
“And then you hung up on him?”
His brain had tried to purge the whole conversation from his memory. “I, um, I don’t recall exactly.”
“You don’t recall. Exactly.”
“N-no, sir, not exactly.”
“Are you aware of our policy of recording the phone calls in case of customer complaints?”
“Yes, Mr. Brennan.”
“Did you inform Mr. Hanson of this?”
“N-no, I don’t recall having informed him of, um . . .No, sir.” Monty shifted in his seat.
“Did you remember to hit record on your headset? Or do you not recall if you can remember whether or not you did that?”
“I, um, yes, sir. I remember recording the phone call.”
“Good. Because Monty, I’m going to listen to this call, and if I find any of what Mr. Hanson says is true, …”
“It’s not,” Monty laughed out.
“This isn’t funny. This is a serious matter.”
“Yes, of course it is, Mr. Brennan.”
“Our lawyers will not find the conversation funny.”
“N-no, well, it depends on what they find funny,” Monty mumbled.
“What was that?”
“N-no, I understand this is not funny.”
“I want you to wait outside at your desk until I’ve listened to the recording. I’ve already forwarded it to our lawyers to listen to.” Just then the phone in Mr. Brennan’s office rang. He picked it up, spoke a few words, and then announced he would put it on speakerphone.
“Monty!” a man said on the other end. “You are a legend. And so was that call.”
Monty guessed the person on the other end was one of the lawyers Mr. Brennan had mentioned.
“Have you listened to it yet, Mr. Brennan?” the lawyer asked.
“No, I was just about to when you called.”
“Have a listen. We’ll talk after.”
“Of course.” Mr. Brennan disconnected the call. “Wait for me outside, Monty. I’ll ask you back in when I’m through.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brennan.”
The phone rang again. Monty stepped outside but could still hear Mr. Brennan’s end of the conversation. “No, I haven’t listened yet . . . yes, I’ll call you back after I’ve done so . . . why are you laughing? OK, I’ll call you back.”
Monty sat at his desk, fiddling with his headset and watching the time tick away. Well, not literally. He was figuratively watching the time tick away. The office didn’t have a clock on the wall. Monty was staring at an empty space where the clock used to be before management had it removed. Everyone checked time on their monitors, phones, and smart watches; they were all wired up and connected and didn’t actually need or use a traditional clock with its hands turning on a face numbered one through twelve. Still, it was habit. Monty used to stare at that clock when he first started working at the company. Now he just stared at the blank space on the wall. It probably needed some dusting. And maybe some new paint.
Time dragged on, and Monty tried not to check his watch. He wondered if he would still have a job tomorrow.
“Monty,” said his supervisor’s voice, calm, steady, and not betraying a thing.
Monty looked up just as Mr. Brennan retreated back into his office. Monty followed him and took a seat again opposite Mr. Brennan’s desk. He tried not to fidget as he mentally reviewed the conversation with Chuck Hanson. He also tried not to groan, rub his temples, or smack his head against the desk.
“Monty,” Mr. Brennan said again, “I’ve listened to the recoding of your phone call to Mr. Hanson, and I’ve conferred with the lawyers, and we are in agreement.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Monty . . . let me buy you a beer.”
***
