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Overview
It’s 1986, and Muna Heddad is in a bind. She and her son have moved to Montreal, leaving behind a civil war filled with bad memories in Lebanon. She had plans to find work as a French teacher, but no one in Quebec trusts her to teach the language. She needs to start making money, and fast. The only work Muna can find is at a weight-loss center as a hotline operator.
All day, she takes calls from people responding to ads seen in magazines or on TV. On the phone, she’s Mona, and she’s quite good at listening. These strangers all have so much to say once someone shows interest in them—marriages gone bad, parents dying, isolation, personal inadequacies. Even as her daily life in Canada is filled with invisible barriers at every turn, at the office Muna is privy to her clients’ deepest secrets.
Dimitri Nasrallah has written a vivid elegy to the 1980s, the years he first moved to Canada, bringing the era’s systemic challenges into the current moment through this deeply endearing portrait of struggle, perseverance, and bonding.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781635424683 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Other Press, LLC |
| Publication date: | 08/27/2024 |
| Pages: | 288 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.72(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
no experience necessary
At five minutes to two, I check my face in the mirrored walls of the building’s lobby, straighten my blazer, touch up my lipstick, and then board the elevator to the sixth floor.
I’ve been through this process many times now. I’m always hopeful that this time will turn out differently. Inshallah! I’m already finding things to like about this building: the lobby is bright and well kept; there’s a security desk to keep all the abu reihas from doing drugs in the public wash- rooms; even the elevator is a good size. I know myself. I grow attached to little touches like this too fast, and I begin to imagine myself anywhere and everywhere in an effort to will the world to bend my way for once. I’m a dreamer. My mother always said so.
The elevator doors open at the sixth floor, where a promising white lobby and relatively clean carpeting greet me. Someone has thought to empty out the large ashtray garbage can by the elevator so it’s not the first smell to backhand you when the doors slide open. Along the wall to the right is one of those modern-looking glass doors, and stencilled across it in neon-red letters is the name NUTRI-FORT.
I step inside and announce myself to the bored receptionist. “Muna Heddad,” I say. “Here for the information session. We spoke earlier.”
She rolls her eyes, checks her list, and then points to a room down the hall. “Follow the signs for Information Session and wait with the others. Help yourself to the free coffee.”
I hope she doesn’t notice my eyebrows perk up at the mention of free coffee. I find that impressive. At the end of the hall, I step into a conference room with windows facing out over the north end of the city. There’s a long, wide table with a screen on one end and a dozen other people seated around it, waiting for the session to start. I drift toward the coffee station and mechanically fill a paper cup, then find a seat along the windowed side of the room. From up here, you can see the McGill University campus, and the mansions along Docteur-Penfield and des Pins, and then Mount Royal. As I wait for the meeting to begin, I try to find my home: there it is, the tall apartment building just outside the campus gates along University Street, the only place that would rent a furnished apartment to a single mother, an immigrant with no references.
A tall, sharply dressed blonde walks into the room and claims the end of the table with the slide projector and screen.
“Bon après-midi à tout le monde,” she says, “and welcome to Nutri-Fort’s information session on an exciting new career opportunity, for the right person. Tell me, how many of you would say that you’re happy with your lives?” A few people around the table let out nervous chuckles.
One man begins to raise his hand but then realizes the question may be more rhetorical than anything else.
The blonde smiles as she scans the room, aware that she’s thrown some people off their expectations. “My name is Lise Carbonneau. I’m the general manager of Nutri-Fort’s downtown Montreal branch. We have six branches across the province now, thirty-four across the country, and there are plans to expand. All this wasn’t here even two years ago. 1984, that’s when this company first launched in Québec, and now it’s poised to grow quickly.”
The ad in the back of the La Presse Jobs section did not give any sense of what kind of work this company did. All it said was “Consultants Needed. Base Pay + Commission. Full-time hours Mon. to Fri. Must have strong interpersonal skills. Interview Guaranteed,” so I thought to myself, why not, what do I have to lose? I’ve been searching for work for almost three months now. It’s already November, and I’ve applied to every posting for a French teacher in La Presse, Le Devoir, the Gazette, with no luck at all. I’m running out of savings. As I listen to this woman talk, yaneh, maybe I’m a little desperate.
“Laissez-moi vous racontez une histoire, entre amis,” Lise says. “Two years ago, I wasn’t happy with my life. I was working as a floor manager down the street at The Bay, in charge of makeup girls. It’s glamorous. Everyone knows that makeup section as one of the legends of this city’s cosmetic world. But I was unsatisfied, unfulfilled by the work. The hardest part of my job was catching old women shoplifting and lecturing them while we waited for the police to arrive. I wanted a bigger challenge. I needed to believe in a vision of the future. I wanted a larger purpose to connect me to humanity’s greater desire to self-actualize. Who here knows that word? Self-actualize. What does it mean?”
Lise cocks her hands on her hips and waits for an answer. I’m captivated by how easily she controls the room. I remember being nervous as a teacher in front of a roomful of kids for the first time, but I can see that this woman has thought everything through ahead of time, including what she wants us to think. I envy her already. Seizing the opportunity to make an impression before the others, I gently raise my hand.
“You.” She flutters her hand in my direction.
“I think it means … to become a better version of yourself?”
“That’s it,” Lise replies, smiling directly at me. Ya rabi, her gaze practically pulls aside my makeup like the thin-threaded veil it is and looks directly into my naked soul. “To become a better version of myself.” I’m using you like a prop in my performance, her eyes say to me. We now share a secret. “That’s exactly what I needed in my life, and that’s what Nutri-Fort provided me with its patented weight-loss formula.”
At this point a few of the men in the room scoff. “You’re right to think like that,” Lise adds quickly, not letting the reaction pass unnoticed. “Nothing truly exceptional ever comes from staying inside your comfort zone. Who here is uncomfortable talking about their weight? How many of you have ever attempted a diet in secret, with nothing more than a how-to book or a magazine clipping to guide you? At Nutri-Fort, we believe you shouldn’t have to go through that journey alone. It doesn’t work. Left to your own devices, there are too many easy exits. If you want to lose weight and keep it off, you need a plan. You need to connect with people who care, who can offer you the right tools. That’s the service we offer.”
One of the more overweight men at the table gets up to leave, avoiding eye contact with the others as he makes his way out the door. Once the door closes behind him, Lise presses the clicker on the table and a slide appears on the screen. It is a picture of a woman who looks like her but much heavier. Even though the woman in the picture is smiling, I think she looks sad. I can see it in her eyes, yaneh, which never lie. I wonder if this is what Lise has just seen in my eyes.
“Can you believe this was me two years ago?” she says. “On my first day of work, this was the photo that was taken for my client kit. I’m sharing this with you not because I’m proud of myself, although I am. I’m telling you because the Nutri-Fort system works. It worked for me. I lost thirty-nine pounds. It’s a program I believe in. Today I’ll introduce you to our products and services, as well as the job you’re here for: Nutri-Fort’s phone consultants, who communicate with clients and build a client base. Everyone ready?”
After two more people leave, Lise begins in earnest, using slides to keep her comments on track. Ya hayete, how has it come to this, I wonder as she discusses the company’s philosophy on weight gain, how the food packets are designed to take the guesswork out of daily calorie regiments so clients can tackle the mathematical ends of obesity. All I want to do is teach, to have my own classroom and my own group of students. As she gives us some background information on how the program was first developed in California, I imagine how I would decorate its walls with famous quotes and arrange the desks for the students to sit in groups, and we would learn grammar and literature, but also songs and games. I am good with kids, a very generous teacher. It was what I did best in Beirut, during those few breaks in the war when the schools reopened.
“But the long-term success of the program resides in people like you and me,” Lise says. “The personal support we can offer to all the feelings that come along with months or years or lifetimes of a body’s fluctuation. The food packages are a way into the daily routines of someone’s life, and once you get them on the phone and talking, the client will begin to wander sideways or backwards into the real reasons they’ve gained that weight. The phones are the most sensitive part of the job, and many consultants are not ready to handle the onslaught of human emotions they encounter: the secrecy, the neediness, the little lies, the passive aggression, the silences, the snaps, the attacks. People don’t always call here with their best selves on offer, but with a controlled structure you can draw that optimal persona from them and they can learn to accept and even anticipate your trespass into their personal lives.”
Next, Lise covers how regional advertising campaigns in magazines, newspapers and television bring in new clients through a hotline number, 1-800-moi-fort. “Hard to forget, hein?” Lise says. “That’s the point. It sticks in your head until you’re ready.” When people finally muster the courage to pick up the phone, they are automatically directed to a consultant for follow-through. “Just like that, you’re talking to someone who understands your problem.” She discusses how sales numbers determine commission. “Those of you who are well organized will see your efforts rewarded.”
Lise finishes by saying, “Don’t you ever feel there are some things in the world that you just don’t want to talk about with the people in your lives? What we offer is a little window to the outside, someone our clients can confide in with information that’s too sensitive to reveal in their daily interactions. Many people don’t have daily interactions at all. Our hotline is a shortcut through all those complications of daily life. On the phone, you may be filling in for a loved one, you may be a coach, or even a disciplinarian. People won’t tell you what they need, but if you make it your skill to figure it out from what they do say, then you will be successful. I’m going to leave these information packages here. At the back, you’ll find an application sheet. If you’re interested, fill one out and leave it at the front desk. You can expect a call from us in the next two days. If you’re selected, we start Monday.”
With that, she bids us a good afternoon and leaves the conference room. Once she’s safely down the hall, about half the people around the table, including all the men, gather their things and make their way out without even looking through the information package.
Some others at the table have begun complaining quietly about how this is one of those scams they hear about on TV. One woman shares the story of a friend who tried this sort of service, and it’s really just about siphoning as much money as possible from these poor people looking for help.
Ya rabi I can’t help but be drawn to the stack Lise has left behind. I find certain people quite magnetic. It’s not a question of what they say, but who they are. Without listening to any more gossip, I walk to the front of the room and pick up an information package. Back at my seat, I fill out an application. One or two other women follow my lead. The rest take this as their cue to leave and continue with their search for better opportunities. Ya hayete, I don’t really have a choice now, do I?