BT Customer Services

Tayagaraja, or Tony, as he’s known to his friends, lives a quiet life in a small coastal town in India with his wife and three children. His name translates to “one who sacrifices,” and Tony certainly lives up to it. They live modestly, all five of them sharing a small one-bedroom house. The whole family sleeps on makeshift beds laid out across a  single room. The children play with friends on a patch of dusty land nearby, and though their kitchen and bathroom are basic, they have just enough to cook and wash. It’s all they can afford, a peaceful, idyllic life, although a poor one. Tony earns a modest income as a fisherman. Life at sea is solitary, but it allows him to provide food for his family. He spends long hours in his boat.

Tony’s grandparents emigrated to England many years ago. They attended university there and worked for many years in London. Though Tony himself has never left India, he dreams of visiting one day. His parents eventually made the trip in later life, but Tony stayed behind with his young family. As usual, on this particular morning, Tony woke before sunrise. He tiptoed across the sleeping bodies of his family, careful not to wake anyone. He took his fishing net from the wall and gave a customary nod to the framed photo of his parents, taken before their voyage to England, the last time they had stood on Indian soil.

From 6 a.m. to 9 a.m., Tony puts out his nets. While keeping an eye on the weather, he rows out into the sea, waiting patiently for a catch. A typical day for Tony begins in earnest a few hours after that. The caress of the Delhi sun is still gentle at that time of morning. Tony hopped into his rowboat and pushed it onto the Yamuna river in a single smooth motion. On the riverbanks, early risers bathed and washed their laundry. But in the centre of the river, Tony was alone – just the way he liked it. He cast his net. The net floated down upon the still water, carried slightly by a soft morning breeze – the last breeze of the day. It would soon be replaced by an oppressive, strong heat. The sun would rise magnificently over the water, flooding the world with golden light.

Tony sat in his boat and waited… and waited.

The weather was overcast but dry, and the river calm. He sat at the back of his boat, anxious for a bite but ready. Suddenly, at 9 a.m., a ringing sound came from his pocket. He scrambled to grab the phone, nearly toppling overboard. Because Tony also works, more realistically, moonlights, as a British Telecom call centre operator.

“Good morning. You have reached Tayagaraja at BT Customer Care. Please call me Tony. How may I help you?”

“Yer! My internet’s down just as I’m watching the footie.”

“You have a foot problem. Besides that, how has your day been?”

“Fine. Look, mate, it’s a big game. I’ve got no connection!”

“I’m glad you’re having a good day. May I take some details?”

“Gavin Astley. Langley Drive. Bolton.”

“Thank you, Calvin. May I call you Garvin? If you could hold the line whilst I… Oh my God! First catch today! Crabs in pants!”

Tony scrambles to stop a crab from crawling down his trousers but forgets to mute the call. Gavin listens in.

“Oh my bloody hell! It’s gonna bite my bits and pieces!”

Tony composes himself.

“You’ve caught crabs?” Gavin says in a bewildered tone.

“Thank you for waiting, Gaston. Checks complete. Now how can I help you?”

Gavin is confused.

“My service is down. Footie is on. I need it connected ASAP!”

“I am here to help. Is the red light on? Please check the box.”

The line crackles as Tony shifts across the boat to haul in some fish. The boat rocks.

“Oh my dear, help, please!” He falls into the net, face-planting into a fish.

“What’s going on? I just want my service back. The second half is starting!”

Tony gargles a reply, the fish half in his mouth.

“Don’t blurry, Mr Gavin. Bled light on, please.”

“What???”

Tony spits out the fish, causing an odd buzzing on the line. Gavin is getting angry.

“What the hell are you up to? You’re supposed to be the number one communications group in England and I can’t even hear you!”

“No problem, sir. I am here to help.”

Another call comes through. Tony, used to juggling calls, answers, but forgets to switch lines.

“Hello. I’m Tayagaraja from BT Customer Services, but you can call me Tony. How can I help you today?”

“What? You asked me that ten minutes ago!” Gavin snaps.

A second voice joins the call.

“Hello, my name is Poppy Marshall and I have a query about my bill.”

Tony mutes Gavin, unable to play the standard hold music – so he whistles Que Sera, Sera instead.

“Mr Garvill, please hold the line whilst I look into your query.”

He switches to Poppy.

“Hello madam, your name is Bill, and your address please?”

Back to Gavin, who hears the same whistled tune.

Suddenly, the boat hits a wave. Tony slips.

“Que Sera, Sera, whatever will be—oh FUCK!” he cries.

“Excuse me!” Poppy is horrified.

“Ah, Mr Gaston, I just fixed the line.”

“I’m Mrs Marshall!”

“Apologies, Bill.”

“No, I’m Poppy. My problem is my bill.”

Tony is untangling his fishing line. He asks her to hold while softly singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat. She sighs. He returns to Gavin.

“When will the line be fixed? The bloody match will be over soon!”

“It’s okay, Mr Gavin. The line is fixed now. No fish yet. How has your day been?”

“Fish? What are you talking about?!”

“Is the red light on now?” Tony composes himself.  “Are you enjoying the game?”

“I can’t see the bloody game!”

“Very well. I support Liverpool. My grandfather lived there.”

He switches back and starts whistling How Much Is That Doggy in the Window for Poppy Marshall. She’s confused and growing increasingly irate.

He returns to Gavin.

“I just checked the line, sir.”

“About bloody time.”

Tony notices a catch.

“Wheeeee!”

Gavin perks up – maybe he will catch the end of the match.

“Fiiiiiiiish!”

“What?”

“It landed!” Tony sings, How Much Is That Fishy in the Window, as he puts Poppy on speaker.

He thanks her for holding, then sees the wind picking up. Waves crash against the boat. He rocks, still singing between customers.

He returns to Gavin.

“Thank you for waiting with patients. I think I have located the problem. The line was too short. Plenty of fish now. Any other problems?”

“Yes! The bloody match is still not on!”

“For that, I am very sorry – AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Tony falls overboard, phone held above water. Wind howls.

“ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Thank you for holding the line, sir. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—”

“Are you OK? Why is the line buzzing?”

Tony bobs up and down, gasping.

“PHEWWW. Hello — Gaston is still here.”

 Then, “Hello Miss Pippa. Hold line. Phew. I’m forever blowing bubbles…”

 He spurts water.

 “Hold line please.”

A lightning bolt hits the boat. Tony screams:

“I’M GONNA DIE!”

Still, a professional, he keeps both callers on the line. Singing to one, promising the other the match will be back.

Together, both customers shout:

“I want compensation!”

Tony, ever-calm, assures them he’ll talk to his manager. They hear humming, then:

“One cod, two cod, three cod more,
Five cod, six cod, money galore.”

He attempts to contact his supervisor, but is interrupted by seagulls landing on his boat.

“F*** off, you two. Go away! Scram! SCRAM!”

Gavin and Poppy both shout, mercifully unaware of each other.

“What’s going on in that office?”

“Does BT communicate with all customers this way?”

Tony shouts at the birds:

“I will hit you if you don’t get off my line!”

Gavin yells, demanding a discount.

“I will ask my manager, sir, but I must cut your bloody head off first!”

Tony decapitates the fish.

“No problem, sir. We will honour your discountings.”

Another call arrives. The storm intensifies.

“Good afternoon. This is BT Customer Services. My name is Tony. How can I help?”

“Hi, Mrs Beadle here. My internet keeps cutting out. I need to book a flight, urgently.”

“Hold the line, Mrs Beetle. Many callers.”

A crab leaps into Tony’s lap. He drops the phone, which lands in the water. He picks it up.

“My flights!”

“You want a fight? Who do you want to fight?”

“I want to f***ing fight you with all my fury!”

“You want to watch the Fury fight?”

The line goes dead.

Another wave takes Tony’s phone and it sinks slowly beneath the surface. Two BT customers are left wondering how the world’s leading telecoms company could be so useless.

As for Tony, he eventually makes it back to shore, fish in hand, and returns home, ready to start again the next morning.

“How was your day?” his wife asks.

“Happy satisfied customers,” he replies.