Before I get to the story you want to hear, let me tell you the story about how I came to be in an Italian restaurant on the Quayside with fifteen women, some of them half my age.
I left the RAF aged 38, after twenty years, with an alphabet soup of qualification in telecoms, electronics and communications. Most of my colleagues went into defence related jobs, or took contracts in places like Saudi Arabia. I got myself a job as operations and technology manager in a call centre belonging to a bank. Call centres aren't simple places. If you're routing telephone calls around seven locations in the UK and two in India you're not doing it with a couple of handsets and a list of names and addresses.
One of the reasons why I chose the call centre industry was because I wanted the company of normal people. I'd had twenty years of living on camps and bases, socializing in the NAAFI and the mess. More cynical friends reckon I'm biased because my wife left me for a colleague six months before I took the money and left. Maybe I am, but I'm happy.
More perceptive friends point out that I've swapped one closed group of friends for another. There are fourteen teams in our call centre, each having between 16 and twenty people in them. Team managers get praised by their bosses for building team spirit and involving team members in fun and social events. In turn team managers figure inviting the ops manager is a sure fire way of keeping themselves in my good books.
Why bother? Because I decide what calls go to which team. In theory I could make sure that one team gets all the callers who've been waiting for two minutes or more; selling additional products and services to people who're angry and frustrated at spending time in a call queue isn't easy. I don't do that, but it doesn't do any harm to let managers believe I might.
Socializing with the teams is fun. The demographics of call centre work are made for a fun night out. Men are outnumbered by women in all the teams; it's not a choice on the part of management, just a fact of this kind of work. Lads get frustrated, and can't understand why patience is such an important quality. So they move on to other jobs, selling fridges in Curry's or double-glazing, while women persevere and make the best of the job.
Team managers have an effect on their team. They decide if the team will socialize out of a sense of fun, or out of a sense of duty. They decide if their team will smile all day, or persevere like sherpas trudging up a mountain. I think some of them realise they have an impact on the mood of their team, and enjoy the experience.
The team I'm out with tonight is run by Andrea, an ambitious, clever woman who has remodelled her team in her own image. I like Andrea's image. She's cleverer than she needs to be to do her job, and sexier than anyone has any right to be at work every day. Our centre has a strict dress code, pressing the idea that every member of staff should dress as if they were expecting to meet customers in a high street branch. I don't mind that; I turn up to work in a summer uniform of button down shirts and chinos with co-ordinated ties, and a winter uniform of suits. I can get away with flat fronts on my trousers and tailored single-breasted suits; I may not have a six-pack but I haven't put weight on since I was eighteen. I'm conservative in my dress style at work, but I'm smart, and I take pride in looking good, and looking well groomed.
Andrea always looks good, but she doesn't dress conservatively. She manages to mix and match styles, with the best of designer high street wear and smart business dress, but all done with a sexiness that challenges you and almost asks you if you're sure that she's trying to be sexy. She's only five foot one, although she always wears heels to make the most of her height. If she isn't wearing tights or stockings (and I've often wondered which) then her legs are tanned and smooth, toe nails immaculately painted and a ring gleaming on the second toe of one foot or the other. If I start to sound like I've been studying her then let's just say that I appreciate attractive women.
Team nights out are different of course. You don't have to wear business dress. You dress for the venues you're going to. In this case it was a meet for a drink in Chase, an Italian meal, then clubbing in Baja, a massive club with a reputation for being the place to meet a willing partner. If I add to these call centre chronicles then you'll probably hear more about Baja.
So I'm stood at the bar in Chase with a bottle of Becks, waiting for the team to arrive. I'm not exactly dressed to kill; just a pair of soft charcoal coloured trousers, and a collarless flannel shirt that I bought in Ireland last year. Add in some loafers and a splash of Hugo Boss aftershave and you might be able to get the picture.
Andrea's team are dressed for their usual Friday night on the Toon; strappy tops and tight skirts predominate with wonderbras much in evidence as well. Then Andrea arrives. She's wearing a suede mini skirt and a fringed, taupe asymmetric top that rests on the edge of her suntanned shoulders leaving no cover for bra straps if any were present.
But that's it; the fringed top, the suede skirt and her shoes. Since I got to know Andy I've wondered if I am turning into a foot fetishist. She has a wide range of shoes; she may be the only woman ever to strut round a call centre in a pair of Manolo Blahnik sandals. I've grown to know every inch of her toes because there has to be snow on the ground before she'll don footwear that conceals her toes.
Tonight there's an addition; a thin chain round her left ankle, made out of what looks like white gold. It seems just a touch wrong, almost out of place, since it's resting on the leather ankle band of her shoes, but it's another feature, another contribution to the idea that she thinks there's something special about her extremities.
