The Trench

I won't lie to myself, I am a glorified receptionist. (I have an embossed golden eagle on my business card, hence the glorification.) Not that I'm complaining, because I do have a wonderful job. Maybe in some inflated, bohemian fasion I should consider my job important. I man the front lines; I lie in the foremost trench, exchanging verbal fire with senior citizens, zealots, and crazies. I am an infantrywoman. Here is an example of the daily battles I fight on the telephone. The fight is to stay calm and rational and sweet, regardless of who's calling and why...

Me: "Good afternoon, Senator Enzi's office."

Caller: "Yea, I am watching your boss Ensign on the Chris Matthew's show right now. I think he, along with the entire Bush Adminstration, needs to go to jail for advocating torture."

Me: "Sir, this isn't Senator Ensign's office."

Caller: "Oh....Who's office is this?"

Me: "This is Senator Enzi's office."

Caller: "Is he a Republican?"

Me: "Yes, sir, he is a Republican."

Caller: "Then he should go to jail too."

Me: "Alright, thanks for calling."

These are the times when I want to abadon standard office procedure and tell gentlemen like this that they are pinheads if that is their political philosophy and encourage them to move to Zimbabwe. Then I would remind them that one-party goverments are simple dictatorships. But instead, I put on my smiley voice, thank them for calling, then brace myself for the next caller.