“I can’t do it! Not again!”
The woman at the desk looked up from her terminal. The man was clearly in distress, almost in tears.
“I’m very sorry, Mr.—“
“You don’t understand!” he wailed. Across the large room with its many desks and even more copious lines, a few heads turned; their expressions ranged from curious to annoyed to downright hostile. “It’s impossible!”
Nobody loved this part. The ideal outcome was seeing the job done in one go, but it was more often several, or many. It took what it took. If it didn’t take, you ended up back here.
There was no penalty, per se. It wasn’t as if anybody here had any choice, any real influence. They were mostly just along for the ride.
Some were more successful than others. Of those, a few maintained a private belief that they’d had something to do with it, and some allowed their belief to be known. A very few chose to actively promote it.
The woman at the desk hated that. It was snake oil, and it wasn’t part of the job. You weren’t there to help. You weren’t a cheerleader, or a coach, or a sympathetic shoulder. You were there because you were there, because somebody had to be, and that was the end of it.
She’d had her share of disgruntled clients. She was normally indifferent. They weren’t full of false confidence and bravado, like the braggarts; they were just in a difficult and frustrating position, which came with the territory. Something about this one made her pause, though, and she looked down at her screen.
Thirty-seven, she read. Thirty-seven failures. She managed to maintain a neutral expression, but only just. Thirty-seven was a lot.
The man’s tone softened. “I just can’t do it again,” he said. “I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried. But he works at it for a few days, a week at the most, then he just forgets about me. Maybe in June or July, he remembers I’m there, maybe again in November, around Thanksgiving. By that time he’s not just given up, it’s like he’s doing the opposite!” His voice began to get louder again.
“Sir,” she said, and he looked mollified.
“But he just won’t let me go, either!” the man continued, more quietly, a pleading expression on his face. “If he’d just move on, I’d be ok with it, I would! It’s like he just keeps me around to torture me!”
Somebody’s supposed to be tortured, but it’s not you, she thought. “Ok, let me see what I can do,” she said, with a polite smile.
“Oh thank you!” He broke down sobbing into his hands. More heads turned, and the conversation stopped outright at two of the nearby desks. A few pairs of eyes narrowed, but most quickly looked away out of embarrassment or pity.
There was a protocol for cases like this. It wasn’t a complete pass, but she didn’t get the sense he wanted out completely—not that she could’ve granted such a wish. He just wanted a fair shot, and that she could do. For a price, she thought. They didn’t like to encourage this sort of thing, no matter the circumstances.
“I apologize for your experience so far, on behalf of the entire organization, and I am able to help you with an alternative placement,” she said, sticking mostly to the script—it had been a long time since she’d done one of these, and it was the sort of thing where you wanted to be precise with your language. “As a one-time option, we can transfer you to a different individual. We require only a nominal update to your contract.”
He raised his head. His eyes were wide and bloodshot; his nose was running. He sniffled loudly. “What does that mean?”
“It means I am able to place you with another individual who is working towards the same goal,” she said. “Someone… more fresh in their journey, who may be more likely to complete it.” Or not, she thought. Experience usually counts for something…but thirty-seven? That’s not experience, that’s insanity.
He seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “But what about… you know? My guy?”
Thoughtful. After so many failures, she didn’t expect him to have much sympathy left. “We’ll assign him someone else. He’ll hardly notice. And his new assignment will be someone…up to the challenge.” Probably a new hire. Somebody looking to impress. Or flame out quick.
“Ok,” he said. “I mean…I really did try. I’m not just giving up, you know? I’m a hard worker. I’m tough! But, thirty-seven…” His voice trailed off.
“Of course,” she said, smiling again. She looked down at the terminal and began to click through menus. With any luck…
“Wait,” he said. “What about my contract? You said you had to update it?”
And there it is, she thought. She looked up. “Yes, just a small change, to compensate for the additional expenses incurred by the change. Printing costs, resubmitting the paperwork, updating the database, that sort of thing,” she said.
“Oh,” he said.
She could tell he didn’t want to ask. He would anyway; he’d probably play it off as being overly polite. More likely that he doesn’t want to risk me taking it back, she thought.
“Uh…what exactly is the…what do you have to…update?” he finally stammered out. “I mean, I’m…I just want to…make sure I know. I don’t mean to be, you know. Rude,” he said.
Here we go. “It’s really just a name change,” she said. “Your role will stay the same, for the most part. You’ll just take on some additional… specificity.”
He frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Well, for example, instead of ‘Read More’, you might be updated to ‘Read One Book A Month’,” she said. “Or, ‘Cook More’ might become ‘Cook Three Times a Week’. See? It’s easier, in a way. More specific.” And harder to keep, she thought.
“So what would I be?”
“Let’s see.” She clicked, typed, then clicked again. “It looks like we’d just be adding an article of clothing. Fitting back into one, specifically. Given that you’re already focused on weight loss, that doesn’t seem too bad, does it?”
“No, I guess not,” he said. “That seems…reasonable.”
“Excellent. I’ll complete the paperwork,” she said. Not that there was any chance you’d back out now.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Go ahead.”
“Just an additional reminder that this is a one-time offer, and the original terms of your contract plus this addendum will apply without exception, going forward.”
“Sure, sure,” he mumbled.
She went back to the terminal. With a final click, a small pile of printed papers emerged from a concealed printer. She gathered them neatly into a stack, slipped them into a folder, and handed them across the desk. “Your new assignment. We’ll take care of the rest. You can head down the hall and turn right.”
The man clutched the folder to his chest with his right arm and reached up with his left hand to wipe away a lingering tear. Then, he switched the folder to his left hand and extended his right. “Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver! I mean it, really! You won’t be disappointed! I’ve got this one in the bag already, I know it!”
The woman shook his hand and beamed her most polite smile. I need to get more sanitizer from the supply closet, she thought, making a mental note.
“I’m glad we were able to resolve your issue, Mr. Lose Fifty Pounds and Fit Into My High School Varsity Jacket. Thank you again for your service, and as always, may every New Year’s Resolution be kept!”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” he said as he walked towards the door.
She barely heard him; the next client was already at her desk. This one looked like she had something to do with nature—going for more walks, or hiking, maybe. She permitted herself a brief sigh. A new year, and never a lack of resolutions.
