Teleportation
…
And immediately prior to my hitting ‘send’ on my email to the customer, I received yet another suggestion for how to proceed. Her advice was useful and motivations benevolent, but I feared bombarding the customer with options. Keeping it simple in customer interactions is how you keep them happy — confusing them only brings trouble. Often they just want you to take control and guide them to the solution. It’s rare for them to want to discover the answer to their problem.
‘If you have any additional questions, please do not hesitate to contact us — we’re here to help!
Best,
Steve’
Closing the ticket, I scoured the queue for my next task. While often mundane and typically monotonous, I find working tickets to be soothing. There is something comforting about the familiar pace, content, and tone. Almost like school. The seats, the lighting, the smells, and the tone are consistently average — drab, even — but the ‘blah’ of it can envelope you in warmth. Which is a long-winded way of saying that working a customer support queue can be at once comfortable and uncomfortable.
Before I let my mind wander too far, I bounce back to Slack to respond to a few messages. My colleagues are delightful, and it’s been a joy to work with them for the last couple of weeks. I hope…
…
…as Di and I turned the corner from our AirBnB onto Viale Enrico de Nicola, we were greeted by a parade — no, a demonstration of some kind. A giant banner read NON UNA DI MENO. There are so many people here. This is incredible! We stop to pause and observe the colorfully adorned protesters, and Di took it upon herself to look up what exactly they were protesting. It is a demonstration to honor the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, with protests happening all over the world. What an incredibly powerful moment to stumble on.
And just like that, they disappeared, heading down the Piazza di Cinquecento toward Via Giovanni Giolitti, so we made our way to our original destination, a couple of blocks beyond the Piazza della Repubblica: a small coffee shop nearby.
As we step inside, I tried to steel myself with confidence in my shaky Italian.
“Un cafe, e un cappucino, per favore.”
“Si, pronto.”
“Grazie mille.”
“Che cosa (no clue what is being said in Italian)?”
“Uhhhh… no me di spiace. Non, grazie.”
“What did she ask?”
“I have no idea.”
Waiting for our order, our jetlagged eyes explored the space, settling on the glass counter containing baked good. There is a small chocolate cake frantically waving at us from under the glass, so we exchange a look of agreement: ‘this cake must be liberated!’
“Per favore? Uhhh…”
I proceed to point at the cake, to which the barista asks,
“One chocolate cake?” speaking English through a delightful Italian accent, over-emphasizing the ‘ake’ in cake.
“Yes, please. Grazie.”
The ruse was up. At least we made it a little bit into our conversation before completely failing the ‘Do You Speak Italian?’ test. Of course, they could probably tell we’re American simply because of our shoes, the fit of our jeans, our haircuts, and glasses. As it turns out, one of Europe’s hottest new games is (especially in the recent travel boom) is ‘Spot the American.’ (Edit: they’ve probably been doing this for a long time)
Stepping out into the early afternoon light, Di and I proceeded up Via Torino toward Piazza San Bernardo. We stop outside a small gate to admire a massive collection of stone busts, enough to be creepy but also kind of cool. Continuing on, we do some people watching of our own, as we make our way toward the real goal: grabbing a porchetta sandwich at a place I dream about since I went a couple years prior. It’s this amazing blend of…
…
…and then I threw the ball into the office, but Charlie didn’t chase. About 90% of the time we’d throw the ball, he’d watch it fly by, ignore it, and nuzzle against our legs pleading for pets. I’ve never met a dog so ambivalent to playtime as Charlie is. Di and I debate why he rarely cares about playtime.
‘Maybe he’s still warming up to us? It’s only been a week.’
‘Maybe we have the wrong toys.’
‘We should really find an enclosed dog park for him to run around.’
Still no closer to the solution, we offer him the bone provided by the person running the rescue where we adopted him. ‘He loves it!’ she proclaimed as she went through the bag of goodies she packed for him when we went to pick him up. Despite her claim, he’s been indifferent to it since we brought him home.
“One week in and I’ve seen him chew it… twice? Maybe? And that was because I put it in his mouth.”
With his disinterest firmly declared, Charlie rolled back and laid down on his side, staring straight ahead as if to say ‘we’re done here.’
And so, with our tails between our legs, Di and I returned to our respective laptops to get back to work.
Di just wrapped up a team call wherein the…
…
Jumping off the Boulevard de la Bastille, I dodged dog poop as I descended a set of stairs toward the canal. Boats bobbed up and down in the chilly August morning air. It felt invigorating to run in the cold, but I cursed myself for forgetting my gloves in the hotel. Who knew it would be this cold in August?
The Canal was void of people, but I felt the absence of many. As I speed by small docks and canoes, I feel the joy I often feel while exploring this great old city, knowing that countless others had traveled the same path I was on at this very moment — even if I was likely the first in short running shorts and a Manchester United beanie.
The Seine magically appeared in front of me as I bounded past pont Morland, but I had to call an audible — last night’s rain left much of the stony walkway along the river wet and slippery — and I wasn’t interested in taking a dip this time of year. Boulevard Morland, my alternate route, is residential and delightful. Cutting my way over the street, then sidewalk, then another street, I am transfixed by the beauty — while keeping my mile pace, of course. Amber leaves scattered along the road, homes three stories high, I almost feel enclosed in a forest. Before the fantasy can become too real, a car honking at quickly bursts my imagined fairy tale.
Approaching Square Henri Galli across Boulevard Henri IV, I quickly turned left toward my goal: Point de Seine, on Île Saint-Louis. Crossing over the Seine, I spot a small gate that will lead down to the pathway along the water, an area reserved for sunbathers in the summer and the less fortunate the rest of the year.
My nerves are high and my awareness piqued, as I am in an unfamiliar area and have no idea if it’s safe to be there. Ripping my headphones out, I make my way down the stairs to keep aware (though I tell myself it’s to soak in the atmosphere, which is about 40% accurate). Moving quickly, I keep my heart rate up while running from the specters I’ve imagined.
Finally, after running along the narrow strip just above the water, I reach my destination. Pausing my run tracker, I stop to stretch and look out at the water before me. It’s not like falling in love for the first time, it’s not Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone, and it’s not losing a close relative level of profound — but it’s powerful. Staring out over the water, I…
…
“I should’ve had lunch an hour ago,” I grumbled quietly to myself. Despite the tone and phrasing, I was barely more than surprised it was already 2pm. Most of the team covering these hours was done for the day, so I couldn’t officially step away from my desk. I kept my headphones on and remained alert, waiting for a ping from a customer or colleague.
That post on Reddit I read this morning saying that meat being a part of every meal was contributing to the environmental ramifications of globalization rang in my head, so maybe I should make oatmeal. A ridiculous line of reasoning I sell myself, when in reality, it’s more laziness than activism or duty that inspires me in that moment.
For five minutes I’m a ping-pong ball bouncing between laptop and kitchen. Turn on the stove. Check Slack. Put uncooked oats into a bowl. Check Gorgias. Pour water on oats. Check Email. Assemble the granola and fruit. Haul my bounty back to the kitchen table / desk, and dig in.
Just like the last hour, nothing new awaits. It’s been a slow but steady pace of tickets since the launch, with the focus of customers shifting rapidly from ‘what should I buy?’ to ‘where is my stuff?’ Based on the confidence demonstrated by the team, this seems typical for launches like this. Even if that’s not the case, it’s not a big concern — I believe this team can navigate whatever lies ahead.
I’m happy, hopeful, and open. It’s been a long path leading up to this, but I’m relieved to be a part of a team. Once mixed, I take a scoop of oatmeal in my spoon. The tart of the raspberry is so strong, I wince.
