Ring.
Ring-ring. Ring-ring.
“Good morning, Acme Grommet and Gravel, a Worldwide Octopus
Company, Pearl speaking.”
“Good morning, Pearl. I’ve some questions regarding
your gravetrational feebleblinking. Do you have a moment?”
I frown.
I’da never taken this job if I’da knowed how much work it
was going to be.
Ten years here at Acme Grommet and Gravel, and with the new job? Like starting at a new place.
“Of course I do,” I say, “as long as we’re both cognizant of
the fact that I’ve been in this newly created position for just under three
weeks.”
“Oh, no worries, no worries.I have some pretty basic questions.”
We both laugh.Ha ha.Work is funny.
“Okay,” I say.“Fire away.”
“Well,” he says, “It’s like this.We’ve got a four-to seven-spindled farquardt
running about three clicks below harmanfletcher.I’m just wondering if you’ve got a stop-gap
measure we can get our mitts on.”
I close my eyes, reflect on that subsistence-farming
thing all the kids are raving about. Maybe it's not too late to buy a goat, start wearing sensible shoes?
“I’m just going to take some notes,” I say.“I’ve got concerns about your farman – your
marfen – your thing there.How many
clicks did you say?”
“About three,” he says, a sound of relief in his
voice.Clearly, things are
happening.“And my biggest issue here is
what with spring threatening and all that I’m going to access the vengravoored brakken
intake-valve and end up with a drainage problem.”
I laugh.“Oh,
man,” I say.“If I had a nickel for
every time I couldn’t trust my vengravoored brakken intake-valve.”
He doesn’t respond.
Maybe I’ve overshot.
“All right then,” I say, “I’m going to dig into this a
little bit and get back to you.Can I
have your number, please?”
He gives me his number. We hang up.
I look at my notes, wander over to my boss’s office, as I
have done several times an hour, every work day for the last three weeks.
“Stacy?Can I talk
to you?”
She looks up from her computer.“Sure thing,” she says.“What’s up?”
I look at my notes, cock my head in that endearing way I
have, frowning slightly.“Something
about a four-to seven-spindled farquardt?Concerns about an intake of some sort?That sound right to you?”
“Ah, rats,” she
says, pushing away from her desk.“It’s
not operating below harmanfletcher, is it?”
I nod sorrowfully.“Yep,” I say, pursing my lips. “Right
there below the ol’ harrmanfletcher.”