Sea Changeby Brian Alexander

! A sea change–a major transformation or alteration brought about by the sea, often for the better. Brett threw a duffel bag into the trunk as he thought about this term Carroll used to describe his situation. In his case, the sea was the economy, a word that offered him no comfort with its broadness–he always envisioned numbers rising and falling, people on wall street running around like monkeys, sensational news anchors....it made his head hurt. He preferred something more immediate, like his recent job loss and the ensuing search for another. In Michigan, no one seemed to be hiring anybody, let alone someone with skill sets from a dead industry. So when he got the offer, he accepted immediately–yes sir where do I sign? He took a deep breathe before squatting down to pick up his 23-inch television. He was ready for adventure, a fresh start, a sea change. Often for the better he repeated to himself.! It was a week earlier when the glow from his computer monitor was casting his muted outline onto the opposing wall. He checked his email to find that tomorrow’s piano student could no longer afford his services. Although grateful that this former side gig to his moneymaking auto plant job was able to string him by these last few months, he knew it wouldn’t last. Searching the job boards mostly depressed him. Sometimes he got a kick out of looking at available jobs way out in left field. One caught his eye this time though. It was unusual in its brevity–just a few sentences long. Mue"er Industries. Inbound Ca" Center Representative. Judgement and problem solving ski"s required. Stress tolerance, adaptability, resilience. No experience required. Good pay. Location: Glenfield, ND. Inquire at 701.795.5822. Despite possessing only a foggy idea of where North Dakota is located, he found himself picking up the phone. After a few rings, the receiver clicked on. Nothing. “mmm Hello?”! “Hhhigh.” A voice, almost childlike quietly responded. Brett was taken aback. Not sure if he should ask for a parent, he continued.! “umm, yes. I am calling in regard to your online posting for a call center representative.”! “Yes. Mueller Industries.” The voice was dramatically lower. “Training begins next week. All that we ask is that you arrive on time to collect your advance.” ! “My advance?”! “Yes, a $5000 signing bonus. You will receive further details via electronic mail. What is your address?” Brett paused for a moment and gave him his email. ! “We look forward to meeting you.” The voice on the other line said before hanging up. Brett held the receiver frozen in his hand for a moment. The conversation’s abruptness left him with a weird taste in his head. Chewing it over for a minute, he wondered why they answered this late at night? The refrigerator outside his door kicked into a hum snapping him out of his trance. He refreshed his email. Sure enough, his inbox count jumped a digit. The message again was sparse, but answered some questions. Aside from the logistics of next week’s training, Brett learned that Mueller Industries was a manufacturer of an insanely wide array of products in pharmaceuticals, textiles and processors to name a few. Their industry truly was plural. After reading the materials and having few exchanges over the next couple days, Brett was ready for his move.

! Some of his few remaining piano pupils expressed remorse at his departure, but he could spot the relief in many of their parents’ eyes for providing an excuse to halt ivory tickling payments. Except for the baseball team, Detroit’s economy took no prisoners. North Dakota’s, Brett took comfort in discovering, was relatively prospering. Open jobs and open space.! Brett was heaving the first box out to his car when he saw Carroll on the other side of his modest duplex’s fence.! “Brett! Where are you going?” she asked. Carroll was the perfect neighbor–warm and interested enough for him to periodically turn out his inner monologue. She wasn’t too nosy either. A retired, rotund gardener who was good at small talk. She was his best friend.! “Oh hey Carroll. Looks like I won’t have to worry about getting my gas shut off again–I found a job last week.” He noticed her hands were filthy, covered in mud, from weeding probably. ! “Brett, that’s terrific! And the packing then?” The box he was carrying was too small and some of his clothes had spilled into a trail behind him. ! “Well the job is at a call center out of town.” He bent on a knee to scoop a sock up off the pavement.! “Oh no I was afraid you were going to say that.” She had shuffled around to his side of the yard and picked up a fallen t-shirt. “I sure am going to miss hearing your students play.” She started stuffing it back into the box with clumps of dirt. He paused for a moment, wondering how she could be so oblivious.! “I know, I know. This is just temporary. Hopefully when I return, I’ll have enough to open that studio.” Up closer, he noticed that she had been sweating heavily, perspiration soaked through her shirt and gleaned from her forehead. ! “Well, before I forget you better give old Carroll a goodbye hug.” He looked at her shirt again, dreading the oncoming moisture. She held her arms out to her sides, her left hand was still holding a muddy garden hoe. He grimaced as they embraced, a hard edge from the hoe dug into his back. “Now where exactly is this new job?”! “North Dakota,” he said. She gave him a look of bewilderment.

! Sitting behind the wheel, with all his junk in boxes next to him felt surprisingly good–his life completely mobilized, the possibility to branch off in any direction. He hadn’t had this feeling in years. His rusted ’95 Chevy Lumina wasn’t pretty, but it handled most trips without any issues–one this length hadn’t been tested in years though. The oil was changed, water bottle was at arms reach, even the G.P.S. was set up–it had remained in its original shipping package for months on his dining table. He backed out of the driveway and eventually hit the highway with light traffic.! Plugging the address into the Joey Navigation System had yielded a two day travel time. Brett planned on marathoning it until sleep won over. At first, he flipped through the radio stations–a newscast, to pop hits, to a baseball game, to long-drive gold–a 100 greatest guitar songs countdown. Later on, as the evening approached and the scenery darkened, he put in an audiotape to stay mentally engaged. It was Roy Lee Stine’s Bridgewater Brigade, a world war II memoir. “...when we came to the clearing..........Lieutenant Menchl tried to open................as far as we were concerned the soil had...” Brett slapped his cheek trying to force alertness. A sign ahead signaled a gas station two miles further, outside of St. Cloud, Minnesota. He parked into a deserted row of spaces at an edge of the partially lit lot where

he locked the doors and dozed off. Moths gathered near the lone light pole a few spaces over. Once his car beams were off, it was the only source of light for miles. !! “ARE YOU LOST?” a loud voice pierced through the silence. Brett woke with alarm. The voice was uncomfortably close. “ARE YOU LOST?” He shook off the fog and realized the source was coming from the G.P.S. inside the car. “RE-CALCULATING.” He swatted at the center console. “RE-CAL” the voice cut off. He could’ve sworn he shut the thing off. The battery power must’ve switched on when registering that it was off route. He had no idea this thing even had battery power. He looked around into the darkness wondering if anyone had heard the unsettling noise. Over the drive, he had grown fond of the female voice commands, an imaginary companion on his long solo journey. But it was out of place in this quiet setting with his intended discrete slumber. He reclined the seat another notch and rested his head against the cloth fabric. He knew his neck was going to have a kink tomorrow, but his pillow was miles away, buried somewhere in the trunk. ! As the sun rose, the stale air inside the windows combined with a lingering taste of a granola bar consumed six hours earlier made him thirsty. He took a swig from the water bottle. The now-lukewarm contents weren’t very refreshing. It wasn’t a thirst for rehydration, it was a thirst for a cleansed palate. He lowered the container back to the floor–it was too large for the cup holders. He took a deep yawn and stared at the unkempt grass in front of the car. He wanted to shower, but knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. He took a whiff of his shirt and changed into a fresh one–it was the best he could do. At least at this late in the fall, he wasn’t drenched in sweat from an unair-conditioned environment over the night. ! On the second half of the journey, the final stretch from Minnesota traveling Northwest into North Dakota, hills gave way to mounds, mounds gave way to plains, plains gave way to completely flat emptiness. A sign loomed ahead saying, “Welcome to North Dakota.” It stuck out like a sore thumb on the barren landscape. The trees of Wisconsin and scenic lakes of Minnesota were all but a distant memory. According to Lori, the name he had decided to give the G.P.S., the city of Fargo was 160 miles south of his position. Constant static became the only radio station when Glenfield neared to within about a two hour drive. Brett thought this was a good time to be alone with his thoughts except the only thought on his mind at that moment was that he had to piss like a motherfucker. There hadn’t been a rest stop for ages so taking advantage of a tall cornfield seemed like the best option. He pulled over, rolled down the windows, and ventured into the tall grass. While he urinated he thought about how strange the remoteness of this place actually felt to him, and wondered where the hell everybody was–he hadn’t passed a single car in forever–he probably could’ve stopped in the middle of the road, got on the roof and pissed in a circle without drawing attention. As he walked back to the road, he saw that dirt began collecting on his shoes, one of which had become untied–he would have to fix that back at his car where he could rest a foot up on one of its ledges.! He was approaching the clearing when he looked up to see a large man standing in the road. The man was leaning against a blue truck staring at Brett when he came out of the opening. Brett was momentarily startled, and then worried about his quick bathroom break. He tried to think of an excuse. The man said nothing.! “Hello there sir.”

! “Hello stranger, are you lost?” Brett didn’t know if he was referring to his pissing location or the general location.! “Well I guess I’m trying to get to Glenfield. Is it much further?”! “Hmmm.” The man appeared to contemplate saying something. “Oh yeah. It’s just a ways up there.” He gestured in the direction Brett was driving. “That’s where I live, I’m on my way back now.” He looked at Brett’s packed vehicle. “May I ask what you’re heading there for?”! “Sure. I just got a job there, over at Mueller Industries. Have you heard of them?”The man’s expression changed to a warm smile. “Oh yes, they are doing quite well.” his reserved body language quickly disappeared. “My name’s Frank. Why don’t you just follow me in, and I could even help get you set up, since you are unfamiliar and all?” Brett obliged and got in his vehicle. He stared at the blue truck’s North Dakota license plate the whole way back. It showed an image of a bison on an empty prairie with the phrase–feel the spirit.! Glenfield, he found out, was a town just under a hundred people–never in his life did he think he would end up living somewhere this small. He knew it was going to be small, but not miniscule without any places to rent. Frank told him the area’s lawyer should still be in his office where he could look into a property to buy, which he believed was only a small house on the town’s perimeter. ! This turned out to be true and Brett became the new homeowner of a small home with a purchase price of $4500, a down payment of $100, and an attorney’s fee of $10. He was amazed that his signing bonus could buy him a frickin house. After picking up some bread at the town’s bar, which also sold a small supply of household goods, he followed the directions down the dirt road to his home. It was old. It was small. But it would do–it would have to. The only complaint he had about the place was that it felt more abandoned than vacant. Traces of the former occupants lined the walls with dusty old photos, but the elephant in the room was a full upright piano. Brett thought he was seeing things–he brushed off the cobwebs and plucked a few keys. Worked. Then a few chords. The damn thing is sti" in tune. Just having running water and electricity already was convenient, but now he had a new toy to tinker with. He set up his camping cot in the bedroom and laid down. Looking around the room he felt worlds away from his life in Michigan which only ended forty-eight hours ago. Any energy to unpack was now absent, along with time because the next morning was the beginning of his training at Mueller Industries and his first day with a job. He glanced around the room at some of the old photographs–they reminded him of the old family portraits his dad would have hanging around the house he grew up in as a kid. They were creepy during the day, but at night, they were the living, breathing devil. If needing to use the upstairs bathroom, he would have to sprint past the portraits in the hallways so the mysterious image spirit couldn’t grab him or something. Brett knew it was silly now, but these old photographs were creeping him out. They would have to be taken down tomorrow, but for now, he shut his eyes. !! Work attire for Mueller Industries was stated as business casual. After a long overdue shower he felt ready. He tried plugging the address into the navigation system, but it wasn’t returning any results. Then he remembered the printed directions from the email. He dug those out of his backpack. County Road B2 into Glenfield. Right at Larpenter. Left at Dozer. Brett’s new abode was just off the county road, which was the main street through the town. Larpenter took him down a farm road that seemed to stretch forever. After about

fifteen minutes a side road ran off to the left. Sure enough, a little sign said Dozer, but the G.P.S. didn’t register any cross roads from Larpenter for many miles. Immediately he could see the complex up ahead. ! It was two buildings–one massive warehouse style type which said Mueller Industries on an upper corner, and an adjacent building about a third the size of the other. The sleek modern design was in stark contrast to the surrounding farmland. The parking lot jutted out around the smaller building. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror making sure he was presentable enough. There were plenty of cars already parked in the lot this morning, but he didn’t see anyone coming or going at that moment. He walked through the door of the smaller building. ! Just inside, his eyes needed time to adjust to the brightness of the place. The sterile lobby’s all white interior seemed to glow. It was a rectangularly shaped room flanked by rows of doors. Black lettering above one said Inbound Representative Orientation 7:00 a.m. He checked his phone for the time, but quickly remembered he hadn’t received cell service for hours–he would have to cancel it and purchase a watch. This led him to another room with the same styled interior where a short, bald man in all white stood up upon seeing him. He waited for Brett with a warm smile and said nothing. “Hi, I’m Brett. I’m here for training.” He held out his hand to shake.! “Breett.” The man’s voice squeaked then lowered. “Yes I spoke with you on the phone. My name’s Rhode.” He stared at Brett’s hand then raised his in a similar fashion. Brett awkwardly grabbed his and gave it a good shake. Rhode’s hand was limp and freezing. He smiled again as Brett gave him a shake. “Let’s get you signed up and then we’ll get started.” Rhode went behind a clear desk and pulled out some papers. The all white interior gave off a clean ambience to any one who may visit, but Brett wondered if there ever were any clients ever trekking out here in the middle of nowhere to impress. While going over the paperwork and signing on the lines, Brett learned that they employed a direct account payment system. Payment would largely reflect performance. The account had a freeze on it until the end of each yearly contract. Living expenses would be covered by the company and any other monies needed in the event of an emergency. Not sure what exactly he had just signed up for Brett followed him into the next room. It was colossal. A maze of cubicles, each with a computer monitor on a desk. There had to be nearly a hundred of them, except there was no one at them. Rhode led him to a desk, which he said was his.! “Brett our training process is very simple. You will be receiving a number of calls. At first they will not be actual people, but a simulation. Mueller Industries produces a wide array of products and services. The phone’s display will tell you which particular one the call is regarding and you will consult the file for that item, closely following the scripted resolution. Some problems will require you to think on your feet, as they say, others will simply require you to read from the script. Of course we will be closely monitoring your performance, judged not only for timely resolution because time is money, as they say, but an equal weight of importance is placed on the quality of your resolution. Us, up in Quality Assurance,” he motions up to rooms on the second floor overlooking the maze of cubicles, “will decide when you are ready for live calls. You will not be notified when this change occurs. We also do not have any lunch breaks here–there is no break room. When your appetite gets the best of you, that will be the end of your day. Go home and return the next morning. Your headset must be worn at all times with the mouthpiece within two inches of your lips. If your headset is uncomfortable we will fit you for a new one. Go ahead and put it

on.” Brett grabbed the slick looking headset and slid it over his head. The mouthpiece was not adjustable but firmly in place inches from his tongue. It fit like a second skin. “How does that feel?” ! “I wouldn’t even know I was wearing it unless you told me.”! “Good.” Rhode smiled. “Also, I know that at times the calls may become monotonous and you may have a desire for some hand-eye stimulation. We have set up some games on the monitor that will help stimulate your other senses. The most popular is this one right here.” He clicked through a folder and opened a program. “We labeled it Mindsweeper after it’s similarities to the mine game. Please enjoy the programs. We truly hope you do well here.” He looked Brett in the eyes as he said the last few words. “Any questions moving forward?! “When will I be starting?”! “Right now.” He turned around and walked back through the doors they entered earlier. Brett watched him leave for a moment and then looked back at the screen. He only had a moment to reflect on his instructions when the phone started ringing. The display said Wheat Diamonds Cereal. He pulled up the file and answered, following the script’s introduction.! “Hello. This is Brett. How may I assist you today?” He used a cheery, neutral tone. ! “Brett? What kind of name is that? I have a problem with my cereal.” The man sounded older and angry. ! “I’m sorry sir. What seems to be the problem?” The file said the marketing of the cereal, while novel for many consumers, left some confused, especially older, more senile customers.! “Well, I went to the store the other day and was gonna buy some of my usual Wheat Squares cereal, but in the aisle I saw the new Wheat Diamonds Cereal by your company. I was feeling a little adventurous that day so I bought the Wheat Diamonds, went home, opened the box and poured myself a bowl. But instead of Wheat Diamonds coming out of the box, it was the same old Wheat Squares! Now I don’t know if this is some kind of a shipping error or a bit of a box mix-up at the factory, but I demand my money back and at least a few boxes of Wheat Diamonds as compensation for the confusion and suffering I endured!” Brett paused for a moment, worried that this going to be the same type of shit he was going to have to look forward to for the rest of his time here. Remembering that he was being monitored for speed, he responded.! “Sir, you say that instead of the Wheat Diamonds in your bowl, there is actually Wheat Squares?! “That’s what I said,” the man replied with a gruff tone.! “Sir, are you near the cereal right now?”! “I am.”! “Well can I ask that you pick up one of the Wheat Squares? About thirty seconds passed. “Ok.”! “Turn the square forty-five degrees to the right.”! “Ok, done.”! “Now what shape does the cereal look like now?”! “...a diamond.” The man hung up.! The calls continued like this as the weeks passed. Mostly mundane issues. Every now and then a customer went on to discuss a tangent problem in their lives that was off script,

but for the most part it was consulting a file. Brett took to the Mindsweeper game as he settled into a routine. Occasionally he would look up to the second floor where he saw Rhode and the Quality Assurance team peering down over the ledge. He sometimes wondered why no one else worked on the floor with him, but most dissenting thoughts were comforted by his account payments–his rate of income was nearly doubling every week. He could surely leave here after a year. Plus, he had the freedom call it a day and go home, which he turned into a comfortable residence for the time being, albeit minus a phone and T.V. He had begun mastering the piano again, playing at a better level than any time in his life. ! Almost all of his communication with Rhode was done through the headset now–brief reminders about staying on script, quality evaluations. After deciding to end his shift one day, Brett felt an urge to stop in Rhode’s office. He was seated behind his desk. His bald head had grown hair out to a light fuzz. Rhode stood up to greet him. “Brett buddy, how can I help you?” Immediately he noticed that Rhode seemed taller. He was still donned in his all white garb. ! “Hey Rhode. I just wanted to touch base with you to see how my performance is going. I know you’ve told me everything’s been going great through the headset, but I just wanted to hear it in person.”! “Oh yeah. Nothing to worry about–you’ve been off the charts as far as performance. We couldn’t be happier with your abilities and I think you’ll find that reflected in your quarterly review. If it’s the pay that’s bothering you, I can talk it over with–”! “No, no, the pay’s been great. I just wasn’t sure If what I was doing here was up to your expectations.” Brett felt a bit easier now. ! “Oh don’t worry about that. Frankly we weren’t sure exactly what to expect. but I’m glad you came in here to clarify your concerns with us in person, as they say.” Rhode smiled-his lips seemed to have almost a blueish hue. ! “Yeah, no problem. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Rhode nodded. Brett noticed his lips and left. ! After getting home, he sat behind the piano in the largely empty room. He glazed over the sheet music. His eyes felt sore, drained from a longer day at work. His mouth was dry from talking for hours, and he then realized his water bottle was left back at the complex. Sure he had plenty of cups, but he preferred the bottle, and this gave him an excuse to check out what Rhode and the QA team were up to after his shift ended. ! As he approached the complex, driving up the dirt road, he enjoyed the different shades of light reflecting off it’s pristine edges at this hour in the evening. He walked up to the door feeling comfortable after the day’s earlier conversation. If Rhode was still here, he thought it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to ask him if he wanted to grab a beer or something. Stepping inside though, he could tell the place was deserted. He turned the floor lights on to the giant room the call center occupied and plopped down at his work station. The bottle was still on the desk. He threw it in his bag. The place seemed so quiet without the hum from his hard drive’s fans. He spun around in the chair, put on the headset, and turned the display monitor on. ! The room’s peaceful quietness turned to a frightening hush when he saw the monitor. Instead of illuminating the screen, it illuminated a replica of Brett’s head within the monitor’s casing. The eyes looked forward motionlessly–wires and nodes extended from around the eyes to the screen. Brett jolted back in horror. As he did so, the cord from the

headset ripped off and a blue liquid gushed down from the mouthpiece out the torn end. He grabbed his bag and ran out of the room and down the hall. ! As he entered the lobby he saw Rhode approaching the building from outside. Sure that he was going to head to his office, he quickly entered a room on the opposite far end of the white lobby. Black lettering above said Outbound Call Center. He rested for a moment then looked around the room. There appeared to be a variety of recording devices. Everything in the room seem dated, like an old project, finished and preserved for reference like in a museum–photographs and recording files on the shelves were all dated to the 1970s. His heart jumped when he finally saw the project name–Earth. Phase 1–Outbound Ca"s: Language and Culture Research. The room was freezing but sweat started running down his forehead. A binder which documented the dissecting of the language was eerily fascinating but terror resumed when he saw documentation discussing the implementation of phase 2. Earth. Phase 2–Inbound Ca" Center on Location: Physical, Analytical, and Reactionary Properties of the Species. He knew he had to get the fuck out of there. When listening through the door returned no audible noise, he sprinted through the lobby and out to the Lumina. He threw the bag with the binder into the passenger seat and sped off. Once he turned onto Larpenter, he slowed to a normal speed as he approached the town. Rather than pulling over for help, he decided to continue on to County Road B2 where he would make a break for Minnesota. He started getting an uneasy feeling about the residents of Glenfield, North Dakota. The homes were all silent as he turned onto County Road B2. No one seemed to be following him. He took a quick swig from the water bottle and lowered it back to the floor before stepping on the gas. Deciding that 90 mph was about all the Lumina could safely handle, he flew down the road, his headlight caught nothing but bugs and dust for first 20 miles. He was thinking he could make it to Minnesota in about 3 hours at this rate, when a truck came out onto the road ahead from a cornfield. Brett pushed down hard on the brakes, but they were stuck. He reached down to see what was blocking them. He felt down to discover that the water bottle had slid underneath the brake pedal. The discovery was too late and he braced for collision.! He briefly regained consciousness to notice the blue walls of the truck bed he was lying in. When his eyes opened again, he saw Rhode’s face–his head had grown a thick amount of hair. The room glowed a bright white. He couldn’t feel anything. Rhode handed another figure a chart, the header of which Brett was able to read Internal Properties of the Species. Rhode looked down at Brett and said, “Looks like you took quite a spill, as they say.” He then smiled warmly.