I was back in the monotony of TelePerformix again, ready to waste my life away.

The office felt colder today, the usual hum of conversation replaced by an oppressive silence that made the fluorescent lights seem harsher. I had just come off the high of Giant “Killing” last night, and now the dullness of this place was suffocating, as if the adrenaline, the thrill, and the hardcover I had looted from the drone were just a fading dream drowned by the endless rows of cubicles.

The first call came as soon as I sat in my chair—or tried to.

“Sorry buddy,” The Boss said, plopped down in my chair like it was his throne.

There wasn’t anything particularly special about that chair nor this entire place in general, but it just irked me that my routine, which was the only semblance of normalcy in this place, had been upset. Usually, I would not have questioned it.

I don’t know what came over me that time.

“Why?” I asked.

The Boss looked at me, and I got a full view of his sunburned cue ball of a head and patches of hair like a few stubborn tufts of grass hanging on for dear life. “What?”

“Why are you at my desk?”

The Boss smiled, looked around, and laughed a bit. “Need to take some calls today. Damage control.” He leaned back. “Apparently, we got a lot of complaints yesterday from not just one caller but several.”

I frowned.

“You know anything about that, Jayson?”

I shook my head.

“Well,” he continued, returning to his workstation, “don’t make me call your dad to get you in trouble or something.”

It wasn’t the implication that I—at twenty-three years old—needed adult intervention. It was the mention of Papa and getting him wrapped in this useless interaction.

I lowered my head and took the workstation right next to The Boss. As soon as I logged in, my headset immediately connected to the first call.

“Hello?” called an older woman. “Hello? Are you there?”

I realized I hadn’t spoken for the first few seconds, not even bothering to greet the poor old lady. I guess I had to give her the benefit of the doubt; she didn’t sound like a Karen.

“TelePerformix, this is Jayson,” I said, pulling out my stock introduction. “Can I get started with your first and last name, please?”

I looked around, trying to find Shay, Andrei, or Reggie to make faces with as we usually did during calls or to converse while on hold. They must have been on other shifts today. I didn’t need them to enjoy my shift, but it sure helped make it bearable. Without them, the place felt lifeless; the familiar energy long since seeped out. I hadn’t bothered making friends with most coworkers because I didn’t need to.

“Hello?” asked the woman again.

God, I was zoning out, so dulled by the mundanity of this place. It was nothing compared to skidding a van from a cliff in Taal and chasing a capture drone.

“Yes, ma’am,” I managed, “how can I help?”

My phone beeped and cracked, and then nothing but the dial tone of a dropped call.

Customers hanging up usually wasn’t a big deal at Teleperformix. It was a relief for me, sometimes. It was only today, though, that made this particular hang-up frustrating.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the customer.

“What happened?” asked The Boss.

I did not look toward him, shaking my head and smashing the button to take the next call. Unfortunately, my headset didn’t even give me a break and connected me automatically.

“Hey?” asked The Boss again.

“What?”

“What’s gotten into you?”

I shook my head, pointing to the phone.

The Boss scowled at me, got up, and went to do something I didn’t know of and didn’t care.

I heard the line connect. “TelePerformix, this is Jayson,” I said. “Can I get started with your first and last name, please?”

There was a brief pause, then a voice on the other end replied, "First name Ima, last name Peabrain."

It was a skinny kid’s voice belonging to some thirteen-year-old who probably got access to his mom’s phone and wanted to play a stupid joke.

I suppressed a sigh and played along. "Alright, Mr. Peabrain, how can I assist you today?"

I could hear him breathing on the other side, perhaps fuming that I did not take the joke, or confused that I was being serious.

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“Ummm…” he hesitated.

“Mr. Peabrain?” I asked. “Mr. Peabrain, are you there?”

“Uh, yeah,” said the boy. “Still here.”

God, I was laughing inwardly at him now. Maybe I was feeling spiteful today, but I would have some fun with this—anything to breathe some excitement into this day—this life.

“Mr. Peabrain, I’ve noticed some suspicious activity on your account.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, Mr. Peabrain, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel your account altogether unless you can say the next few words back to back in rapid succession.”

The line was empty.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“Uh-huh?” said the kid.

"Good. Now, please repeat after me… 'I'm a sad little troll with no life, and I really should work on my lame jokes.'"

The kid was silent, probably stunned that his prank had backfired so badly.

"Wha—what?" he finally stammered.

"Come on, Mr. Peabrain," I said, keeping my tone mock-serious. "It's the only way to keep your account from getting shut down. Just say it."

There was a long pause, and the kid muttered, "I'm a sad little troll with no life, and I really should work on my lame jokes."

God, even the way he said “troll,” making the ‘R’ sound like a ‘W.’ I didn’t know if that was a rebuke or not. It made me question if he was younger than I initially thought.

"Perfect," I said, barely containing my laughter. "Your account is safe for now, Mr. Peabrain. Have a nice day!"

I slammed down the phone, still seething.

The Boss’s sour breath crept into my space as he leaned in, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Jayson?” he asked. “What the hell that was that?”

I inhaled through my nose, not looking at him. “He was playing a joke on me, Boss.”

His face scrunched as if he’d been tossed in a landfill. “Jokes, eh? You Pinoys like jokes?”

Why did it have to be about Pinoys? “I think everyone likes jokes.”

“Alright, then, Jayson. Here’s a joke.” He adjusted his headset. “Sorry, ma’am, to keep you on hold for so long, but I actually found the man who took your call yesterday.” A pause. “Yes, ma’am. Would you like to speak to him?”

I froze.

“Yes, sure,” said The Boss, smiling wide. “Yes, I agree. I think you should tell him yourself. I’ll get him right on the line with you. One moment, please.”

My headset beeped, and of course, it took the initiative and connected me immediately.

“Hello?” asked the Karen.

I bit my lip. Nothing was more soul-crushing than dealing with the same entitled voice, only now with The Boss breathing down my neck. He was watching me intently, waiting for me to mess up.

“Hello, ma’am,” I forced the words out, feeling the last bit of patience drain away from me. “This is Jayson. How can I assist you today?”

The Karen’s voice was shrill, slicing through my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s about time!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting? And don’t you dare ‘yes, ma’am’ me again!”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. “I’m here to assist you, ma’am. What seems to be the issue?”

“You know damn well what the issue is!” she screeched, like some hellish banshee queen after you disturbed her lair. “I told you yesterday that I didn’t make that charge, but you’re too incompetent to remove it! You people are all the same—useless!”

The last word echoed in my head. I could feel my blood boiling. This wasn’t just about the charge or the call—it was about being treated like dirt by someone who thought she could push around whoever was on the other end of the line. It was about The Boss, grinning like a jackal as he enjoyed my discomfort. It was about the endless cycle of meaningless calls, of feeling stuck in a life going nowhere.

“Are you listening to me?” the Karen demanded, her tone dripping with entitlement. “I want that charge removed, and I want you to do it.”

Something inside me snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore—the frustration, the disrespect, the constant pressure to take it and move on.

I hated this job; it was nothing like what I felt last night. I wanted more of that, maybe not just the Giant Killing, but everything else.

I stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Because you knew you made the charge, you idiot!” I shouted into the phone, my voice echoing across the now-silent office. “You’re just trying to scam your way out of it because you don’t want to pay for your damn bills! Stupid Karen! Putang ina mo!”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. I could practically hear the Karen’s jaw dropping in disbelief.

The Boss’s eyes widened, his grin fading into shock, then confusion. “Poo-tang-what?”

“You think you can just treat people like garbage because you’re too cheap to take responsibility for yourself?” I continued, my voice rising with every word. “You’re not going to scam your way out of this, and you’re not going to treat me like I’m beneath you!”

The Karen sputtered, trying to come up with a response, but I wasn’t done.

“Go back to your after-dinner Netflix and Hollywood trash,” I yelled. “Like you!”

I slammed the phone on the receiver and threw my headset onto the desk. It clattered on the keyboard. A piece of its plastic chipped off.

The Boss just stared.

I ran my fingers through my shaggy hair, pressing my hands over my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Mr. Vargas,” he started for the first time.

“Putang ina,” I swore again, employing the most vulgar curse in Tagalog I knew.

I didn’t log out of my workstation. I didn’t wait for security to escort me out. I didn’t even wait for The Boss to berate me, slamming my employee access card on my desk as I went.

I rode a jeepney home, passing 40 PHP in coins to the driver and wishing I still had the van from last night. I never made enough to own a car. I never would, especially after the vehicle ownership tax was implemented after the Fiction Harvest began. The only people who could own vehicles in this city were Bugatti, Lambo, or other ridiculous Western models that would be swiped away by the slightest rainfall or, god forbid, typhoons.

I wouldn’t be returning to TelePerformix anytime soon—not after that. The company would blacklist me and maybe share my name with other BPO companies. Thus, my future in that sector was doomed, as it was everywhere.

Rain hammered on the tin roof of the jeep. I slumped, and among the working crowd of sweaty office workers and food vendors, I felt closer at home than in any shift at Teleperformix.

The jeepney driver looked my way, smiled with a gold tooth, and changed the song on his Bluetooth speaker.

Raining in Manila.

It was a classic, released almost a quarter century ago. I didn’t know much about music, but I knew that tune.

I agreed with it, too.

It was raining in Manila, but unshackled from the clutches of foreign capitalism, and on my own, I felt free.