text: Saturday. 7am. Alarm rings. I’m quick to spring out of bed, but that’s only to snooze the alarm and return to the fleeting warmth trapped under the blankets. 9 minutes later again the alarm rings. A pernicious cycle of getting up only to return immediately continues until 7:55 am. Admitting defeat, I knew I couldn’t snooze again. I growled walking to my desk. A mere 20 feet from my bed to the chair where I would spend the next 9 hours of my life wishing I was dead. I never was a coffee person. I sometimes wonder if that’s why the mornings always felt extra rough, though I wasn’t a fan of the jitteriness alternative either. On my desk were 3 monitors, 1 large one in the center and two slightly smaller ones on each side. The center and right monitors were reserved for my main working activities while the left one was reserved for the disquieting purpose of displaying the call queue. I sat in the chair staring blankly ahead. What began was a session of leering at the impending doom of what waits for me. Those early morning minutes were ones I hated the most. Knowing that there was a fresh young day ahead of me, ripe with opportunity, an abundance of possibility. Yet I could only see it through what felt like the window of a jail cell, reminding me that today would not be that day. No, instead I would be handed a day filled with anxiety, frustration, and unfulfillment. It was 14 minutes past 8. I still hadn’t moved. My morning routine consisted of me getting to my desk, doing the absolute bare minimum to sign into the computer, then doing nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Sitting there staring off into the distance. Or more often than not, closing my eyes and placing my head on top of my arms on my desk. Sometimes staring at the carpet beneath me other times remaining in the darkness surrounded by the silence. I was trying to escape. Trying to seek shelter from the world, from what was about to happen. Trying to bring back peace to my own mind and body. Trying to forget, maybe even just for a second, that I wasn’t here. The attempts were futile, only delaying the inevitable, or on some occasions making it worse. Then of course there were the tics (motor-tics). Moments where my whole-body twitches in an uncontrolled involuntary movement as if I was flinching from a gunshot going off in the next room. These began a few months back and would happen every so often when I lied down to sleep. But as my stress continued to grow so did the frequency. Eventually they even followed me from my bed to my desk. Whenever I was to place my head down and try to close my eyes the tics would chase me, making me realize that I can’t even escape to my own mind without being chased. On one severe occasion while placing my head down the phone next to me rang, causing me to flinch so dramatically it was truly painful. The way my body reacted had frightened me. I remember the overwhelming feelings immediately after of sorrow and remorse that I had ever let it get this far. That I hadn’t stopped this sooner or gotten help. I looked up at call queue. 3 calls in queue. There was only one other employee working currently and he was already on a call for 8 minutes now. My second coworker wasn’t set to start working until 30 minutes later. But that was it. Just us three guys. Three soldiers in the trenches, set to stave off what felt like an unrelenting horde for the next 9 hours. I felt like I let the anticipation build up for long enough. I took the first call. It was a young gentleman that had a question that frankly had nothing to do with IT at all, but instead was suited more for HR. This was a common occurrence as no other department in the company had a support phone line other than IT. I explained to him in a detached tone that he would need to email the HR department with his inquiry and wait for a response from them. His tone changed from probing to one of irate with a hint of mistrust. As he explained to me that he had already done such thing and still received no such response his choice in words made it seem like he believed I knew the answer to his original question, yet I was withholding it for some reason. And that maybe he would be able to strongarm it out of me. But no, I did not. If I had I would have gladly told him it because I knew that would have been the quickest way to make him go away. I told him once more that only HR would be able to assist him and then ended the call. (2 min 11 sec) I waited for a bit before the next call. I always do now. When I had first started, I used to be able to churn out call after call. Seldom ever using the allotted 2 minutes of *after call wrap* (ACW -- additional time after each call before the next to complete a ticket or paperwork). Though now I use every second I’ve got. I actually use more than I’ve got. A colleague early on taught me a trick to extend the ACW after a call for as long as I need to before going back into available or taking the next call from the queue. It was a handy trick but one to be used sparingly. If the use of it got too high it would prompt a conversation from my manager discouraging its use. But that only mattered back when I cared about my job. Let’s get one thing clear. I am not a good employee. I was. I might still be able to be. But currently I am not. I could care less if I am on time. I could care less if I am meeting metrics or standards. I could care less if I have 200 overdue tickets in my queue. Something has caused this apathy. Maybe its burnout, maybe it’s the fact that these are trying times the world is in currently, or maybe it’s because management doesn’t seem to care either. We have been severely understaffed since back in November when people began to leave our team. Help Desk is an entry position, so it’s not expected of you to stay there forever. Don’t get me wrong some do and end up stuck there for what feels like forever. But the idea is to move on at a certain point. The problem arose when all of these people left their positions, but the positions were never refilled. The size of our team continued to slowly decrease over the year all while we were entering the busiest period we had ever seen. Management doesn’t seem to care that we are understaffed and overworked. Or at least they don’t seem to be doing anything about it. I take the next call. It’s an older Hispanic man. He speaks in broken English. He’s having an issue with the time punch software and he can’t log his hours. He is one of our contractors down in the southern part of the state who works with the roofing teams. He is upset because this is the third time this week he has had to call us for support. *I am upset* because this is the third time this week he has had to call us for support. However, I empathize for this gentleman and the many like him at the company. He works in the field and fulfills a general contractor position. The most advanced piece of technology he uses is a 2010 Motorola Razr. Yet in order to do something as simple as clock in and clock out he has to navigate multiple sites and use two different usernames and passwords that he is expected to remember. This man never thought he would need a degree in computer science just to cash a paycheck as a roofer. I listen to him rant and afterwards I reset one of his passwords. He is able to log in now. He continues to spout about how he shouldn’t have to go through all of this and how all of this is a waste of time and that he shouldn’t have to remember two usernames and two passwords. I ignore him and ask him if there is anything else I can assist him with. He says no and hangs up the phone. (16 min 32 sec) The longer calls (anything over 6 minutes really) always seem to take the most damage on me. There’s something about taking 15 minutes to solve an issue that should have only taken 3 but couldn’t because you needed to over explain everything in the beginning and try to test every single aspect of it afterwards. All while you hold me hostage. Like a teller who you’ve made open the safe but you refuse to leave or let us go until you have counted every last bill inside. As if somehow there would be any different outcome based on the amount. You’ve got your money. Now leave me alone. I try to get up and walk away from my desk. But I’m not sure where to go. I know I’ll have to come right back, so why even leave in the first place? The chains only let you reach so far anyway. I try to cope the same way I do after every call, by either using my phone and scrolling for a distraction or placing my head down. I’m not sure what makes me put my head down on my desk the way I do. I guess I get a false comfort from it. I’m still a bit tired and with my head on the desk I start to doze. A tic hits me and I violently jerk. I can feel an increased pressure in my chest, but I can’t tell if its real or all in my head. I look at the clock. 9:00am. 8 more hours to go.