Dying Man - Unresolved

One fairly filmic quality to call centres is that, in the Star Wars tradition, you get these ongoing, endless, and sometimes rather dramatic sagas. I will tell you of one such saga, one which my cubicle sharing phone-monkey friend imparted to me. In all 'coldies', stories like this get passed through the centre, being exaggerated, augmented, hell - maybe entirely fabricated. But this one always sends a chill up a newbie cold caller's spine.

The DYING MAN.

I pick up the phone and dial a number. Just like all the numbers we key in, this is just off a spreadsheet, a database, a hunk of tree - we don't even use computers to keep information around here. Just an extensive trail of 'cards'. There are thousands, no - fucking millions of these things - just spread about the place. If they allowed games in the office (they don't), and anyone played 'Eye Spy', there's only one letter you could choose - motherfuckin 'C'. So yeah there are a lot of cards.

I pick up the phone and dial the number. It's picked up by a woman with a prickly tone to her voice. Usually you have to speak to get that reception - no, something's wrong here, before I've even begun. I imagine the worst, maybe someone's taken the whole place hostage, and she's taking this call with a gun pressed against her cheek. "Stay cool, finish the conversation, and put the receiver down." Maybe.

This is me: "Hi. Can I ask who's responsible for your company's advertising and marketing policy?"
Cold, terrified woman: "Yes. Mr. Hulbert."
"OK, well is he in right now for a quick word?"
Her voice takes on a really shrill tone now: "No. No you can't. He's... not with us anymore..."
I'm feeling a little uncomfortable, the woman's crazy. If I was around her house in the evening, I get the feeling she'd be spelling HELP ME in runner beans with her 'husband' poking her under the table.
"Right, well, who is in charge now then?"
"It's still Mr. Hulbert," intones the panicking kidnappee.
"Where is he then?"
"He's in," and now she lets out a wail, "He went to hospital last night, we don't know what's going to happen."

What do you say. I simply wished her (and Mr. Hulbert) well and carried on with the day. If I thought that was awkward, this was nothing compared to my call-back two weeks later.
"Good morning, can I speak to Mr. Hulbert Please?"
Same woman. It seems the grieving isn't out of her system. She bursts into tears.
"N..no! He's...I'm afraid he's not with us."
She doesn't know it's me, I don't want to identify myself as some frequent morbid spectator to this grisly game of 'Call the dead guy', and I certainly don't want to ask where he is this time.
"OK, maybe I'll try later then," I cheerfully reply, and place the receiver back on the hook.

Dan (Edinburgh)