The Countdown to Thirty Read online

  The Countdown to Thirty

  By Nefertiti Faraj

  Copyright © Nefertiti Faraj, 2015

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Please purchase only authorized editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the publisher’s rights is appreciated.

  To my fellow readers,

  When I began writing this novel originally it was intended to be a short story or a novella. But as a two month deadline turned into a time span of several months I found that I couldn’t stop writing until the story was complete, until I got everything out that I wanted to say.

  So much of this story is me from the personalities of the main characters to some of the crazy situations they’ve gotten themselves into. Many of the plots were developed from my imagination but several came into existence either consciously or subconsciously through experiences in my own life which I chose to spice up or tone down for the sake of the story.

  It was important for me in this first of many novels to come to create a descriptive contemporary setting that my readers could relate to or at least easily adapt to. I was also compelled to create women who were both amiable and authentic. Real characters in real situations with real personalities experiencing the challenging day-to-day life activities that many of us twenty, thirty or even forty somethings go through was necessary in order for me to carry the story from the beginning to end. I love superwomen but I didn’t need my characters to have an artificial sense of the word in order to achieve my point. I just wanted them to be normal everyday women like you and me.

  When you read The Countdown to Thirty I hope that you find it funny, relatable and inspiring. If not, at the least I hope you find it entertaining.

  Happy reading,

  Nefertiti Faraj

  For updates on more of my upcoming work or to get to know the author better please visit:

  www.goodreads.com/NefertitiFaraj

  https://www.facebook.com/NefertitiFaraj

  Or email

  [email protected]

  Feedback is very valuable to me as well as your reviews and hearing about any personal connections you may have had with the characters. Please don’t be shy! You’re encouragement motivates me to produce quality and entertaining material that I pray captures your mind and sweeps it away to another place allowing for that peaceful moment of escape.

  More exciting titles coming this year!

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Acknowledgements

  Dedicated to my mother who early on instilled the values of reading and writing in our home and who provided me with my much adored collection of Babysitter’s Club books of which I still have today.

  And to my Niya bear for being my biggest fan and most influential supporter from day one. Not only are you cute but you’re also one sharp eight year old.

  I love you girl.

  One

  Sonya

  Whoever coined the term “stay in school and get your degree or you’ll be flipping burgers at McDonald’s” knew exactly what they were talking about. No I’m not technically flipping burgers but my job is damn near the equivalent of that.

  For what feels like the seventh time in the last half hour I glanced at the time on my computer and was relieved to find I only had an hour left of my shift to go. My head aches, my back is stiff and I have a serious case of cotton mouth from taking back-to-back calls all day long. Like I said I’m not flipping burgers but you get the gist, I hate my job.

  The misery of answering over a hundred phone calls most days from angry and clueless customers and to “do it with a smile” then be grateful for the anorexic check I collect every other week is indescribable. My official job title of CSR Training Administrator meant nothing since I was forced to hit the phones after a four month hiring freeze. Unfortunately, this job trumps over all of my natural born intellect and fabulousness and the day I quit will be a blessing.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with Mrs. McCoy?” I asked as I spoke into my headpiece.

  The irritating old woman on the other end of the line had me cornered for the last fifteen minutes. She forced me into explaining the features and benefits of each of our credit cards then going through it again a second time with her hearing impaired husband. Judging by the weariness in his voice I imagined he found her irritating as well.

  I was so tempted to disconnect the call without warning but what good would that do? I’d only get another one immediately after and have to start the “customer first” act all over again from scratch.

  “Well yes there is one more thing”, the old woman answered, “Can you tell me why you people charge such high fees? I mean is it necessary to charge an old woman on a fixed income thirty-nine dollars for going over the credit limit a time or two? I mean don’t you feel bad about it? I told you what my income was when I applied for your card and you have the audacity to overcharge me!” She screamed after realizing our conversation was coming to an end and that a simple thank you would be too pleasant.

  “Mrs. McCoy, I do apologize for your inconvenience but these are the fees you agreed to when you accepted our Diamond card. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Well, no!”

  “Please take care and thank you for calling Alliance America, where we value and treat every customer as an individual.” I replied as sweetly as possible to mask my own irritation.

  God I hated that punch line they force us to add at the end of every call. ‘Where we value and treat every customer as an individual’…complete bull. But not doing so results in an automatic call fail if you’re screened. I should know; I was the one who use to administer the training.

  “Have a good day my foot! Bob! You’ll never believe how nasty these credit card people are—” I heard her say just before she rudely hung up in my face.

  Excuse me, but I’d just given her a five star stellar performance of customer service at its best and she calls me nasty? Lord, get me off these phones!

  I was so tired of working for a company that had millions if not billions of dollars but couldn’t show me enough respect to do the job they hired me for. On top of that they were liars, manipulators and cheap.

  When their hiring freeze began they enlisted me to take escalated customer calls for about half my shift, then balance call monitoring and employee coaching the rest of the time. I sucked it up, no problem. Then about a month later they cut out all training which forced me to be on the phone eight hours plus per day and it’s been hell ever since. C
ustomers don’t seem to care that I’m just another hourly employee with no say over what fees they decide to charge in the boardroom; they just want me to perform miracles.

  I took two more calls before logging off and grabbing my belongings to head to Sahara Hall (the great room that could comfortably sit all eleven hundred employees at one time.) When I arrived at work this morning and checked my email I accepted an invitation for a mandatory meeting at three p.m., just an hour short of my freedom for the weekend, sixty minutes until peace and quiet, thirty-six hundred seconds left until I didn’t have to see or smell this place for another forty eight hours.

  Working for Alliance America for the past year has been in a word, miserable. If it wasn’t for the lack of respect as a true professional from management and the six hours of overtime I needed to average per week to get a decent check it could have been bearable.

  Who am I kidding, being on the phone sucks.

  I stood up and ran my hands down my white long sleeved button up blouse in an attempt to flatten out any wrinkles that were created from my last two hours of sitting. After splashing my neck moist with a floral scented body spray I touched up my shapely lips with my plum colored lipstick that had begun to wear after lunch. While walking down my row I passed by several depressing gray cubicles. They were filled with customer service reps chatting away on their headsets while typing faster than the speed of light in order to keep their call time low to avoid a potential call fail. Most cubicles were decorated with pictures of families, cute kids minus the occasional funny looking ones, knickknacks and printouts of positive quotes that were supposed to help get you through the day. All the family photos and positivity in the world couldn’t fool me; here we were all just another number. I imagined in upper management’s eyes we were simply considered dispensable idiots.

  As I exited the main call center door I was forced to wonder how I came to work at such a place. I guess being voted “Most Likely to Succeed” in high school didn’t mean shit. I mean I did go to college and even though I didn’t go further than my Associates degrees I knew I was smarter than this. An AA in Business Admin and an AA in Accounting had to stand for something.

  A few minutes later I stock piled into Sahara Hall with about three hundred other people from various departments ranging from collections to sales and smiled when I saw Josephine, a cute Filipino girl my age who wore black framed designer glasses that gave her a look of sophistication. Josephine Lozares - or Jo as we called her - was another fellow trainer but from the sales department. She to had fallen from grace and been reduced to a phone girl.

  She bounced her five foot nothing adorably round frame over to me while her long black ponytail swayed back and forth.

  “Hey Sonya, you’re here to huh? How are things going in customer service?” She asked.

  “Well the customers are still cranky, moody and expect the world, but I made it through another day!” I said sarcastically as she nodded her head in agreement.

  We sat in the second row towards the back of the hall to avoid a stampede once the meeting was over. While people continued to pile in and find their seats she vented about the ridiculous demands coming from the sales department and how she’d been looking for a new job. Then we switched the subject to skin care and make-up when she complimented me on my smooth chocolate brown complexion.

  “Black don’t crack!” She said laughing.

  God if only I had a dime every time I heard that overused phrase that always seemed to come out of the mouth of someone who wasn’t Black. I wasn’t the least bit annoyed though; Jo could be a real comic sometimes. On most days her IM conversations were the only thing stopping me from walking out never to return again.

  “Oh yea,” I said reaching into my purse to retrieve a small plastic bag, “I have your earrings.”

  Jo was one of the many people who admired not only my makeup application techniques but also the handmade jewelry I create in my spare time, mostly when I’m bored or have an idea for something and can’t find in stores. I handed her over the shiny black diamond shaped earrings that we trimmed in gold and were going to match her outfit for an event she was going to.

  “Oh there so pretty, thank you so much.” She said admiring them before reaching into her purse and pulling out a crisp ten dollar bill.

  A few minutes later Brad - the VP of Operations - came on stage in his expensive looking suit and tie. He couldn’t have been a day over thirty which made me wonder how the hell he got his position. I was twenty-six and nowhere near his professional level which reminded me that I’d wasted too much time. But then my subconscious kicked in and ever so kindly reminded me of the office politics that took place around here.

  He probably knew someone or kissed a lot of ass to get to his position in such a short amount of time.

  He started by telling us how valued we were and thanking us for our commitment to Alliance. A PowerPoint presentation began presenting a slideshow which displayed pictures of bar graphs and line charts as he rambled about the financial performance of the company for the last four quarters.

  “How long is this going to last? Maybe they’ll let us leave early once he’s done blabbing.” Jo said feeling my same sentiments.

  Then five minutes after he’d started, I didn’t even see it coming, he announced we were all laid off.

  v

  The next morning I woke up to the sound of early morning moaning coming from my next door neighbor who obviously didn’t realize how paper thin our bedroom walls were. I assumed she was busy getting it on with her bald headed boyfriend I saw visiting her apartment from time to time who always appeared a bit more flirtatious than friendly for my taste. I couldn’t lie though; their moans sounded more soothing rather than irritating but I was too tired and slightly hung over from the half bottle of wine I had the night before to care enough to listen. As perverted as it makes me feel to admit it, I’d been guilty of putting my ear to the wall and listening intently to the forgotten erotic sounds of pleasure, however this morning I wasn’t the slightest bit interested.

  Last night turned out to be my one woman celebration for officially being free from Alliance America and my pity party for being unemployed with a bunch of bills, bills, bills. After being laid-off I made my way to the bank to deposit my final paycheck and had the teller create a cashier’s check for a month’s worth of rent. I figured that would hold me over until I found another job or at least until my unemployment insurance kicked in.

  I called up Nina, one of the few friends I still spoke to from high school, to see if she wanted to go to a bar or do something to celebrate with me. But as usual she was too caught up in her boyfriend drama and didn’t think she would be able to leave the house. Saundra who was my older sister and confidant was out of town on a cruise with her family and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, so she was also out of the question. Feeling friendless at that moment, I instead went to Lee’s Discount Liquor (a mega alcohol warehouse chain in the valley) and bought a bottle of wine, then splurged on some sushi and took my ass home to party.

  Sure my celebration started out good when I imagined not having to drive to that employee parking lot Monday morning with that heavy feeling of dread that once got so bad I contemplated jumping out of the car just to avoid clocking in. But then when I thought about my personal loans, medical bills and credit cards I’d been working extra overtime to pay off I felt overwhelmed and knew I had no choice but to find another job and quick.

  As their arousing moans continued I complained to myself in a low groggy tone, “It’s too damn early for this.”

  I lay there for a few more moments before I realized I couldn’t go back to sleep and blindly searched for the remote on my bed until I found it. After pushing the ON button I turned the volume up loud enough to drown out the moans then positioned myself on my back so I could view the TV.

  Glancing out of the cracked vertical blinds I could see the first parts of day seeping. The sun rays shone brightly agains
t my artificial yet realistic looking white roses that sat elegantly on my nightstand. They were housed in a large mosaic vase which had quickly become one of my favorite décor pieces around the house.

  I recalled the day I received the shimmering purple and silver vase in the mail along with a set of matching candle holders that sat beside it. It was a gift from Oliver, my sister’s husband’s mentor in the legal field who they tried fixing me up with about a year ago. But I wasn’t interested. I wasn’t interested when he asked me out on a date, I wasn’t interested when Saundra begged me to go and I definitely wasn’t interested when he slid his bony hand up my bare thigh before I slapped his tongue back in his mouth and stormed into my apartment. The package came with a short and vague apology note that I’m sure he carefully construed as not to incriminate himself. I would have thrown it away until I realized the package was from Macy’s. Nina gave me the bright idea to search the vase set online and when I saw the retail value was over a hundred and fifty dollars, I decided to keep it as partial payment for my pain and suffering.

  As it stands and has been understood, I’m single by choice and have been for the last four years. For the last two I can truthfully say I’ve been completely satisfied with that. I get asked out on dates and occasionally when I go out at least one guy always asks for my number. But who has the energy for love? The one deadly heartbreak I had to suffer through was painful enough to last a lifetime and after taking two awful years to move past the depression and the “what did I do wrong” questions, I had no interest.

  “Sonya you’re too pretty to be single,” or the “You’re gonna let that body go to waste?” comments are all I seem to hear from Saundra and Nina but I just roll my eyes and said “anyways” changing the subject to something else.