Zoobombing (Act II)

Ysabel triumphantly lifts her hand, her middle finger poised, circling the phone’s disconnect button. “Why, no,” she says into her telephone headset. “Thank you. I can only apologize for how badly the questions were written, and how boring it must have been for you. Not at all. And you have a good evening yourself. Goodbye.” She punches the button. Sighs. Peers at the computer keyboard that takes up most what little desk space is left by the monitor and taps a couple of keys with index fingers poking out of loose fists. She peers at the screen, then punches a couple more keys. Becker kneels down next to her chair as she reaches for the phone again. “Hey,” he says. “It’s after nine. You’re done.”

“Oh,” says Ysabel, leaning back in her chair.

“You’ve been on the phone about five hours. You logged 42 complete surveys. That’s, ah, pretty much a record.”

“Oh,” says Ysabel. Jo comes up behind Becker, her arms folded, her mouth wryly turned. Behind her, other dialers are scooping up bags, books, empty water bottles, candy wrappers, gathering their things and heading for the door.

“Yeah,” Becker’s saying. “Seth monitored several of your calls– you did a fantastic job. We could maybe do with a little less, you know, insulting the survey, but–”