11:30 AM

the phone rang and i was only halfway through my introductory "hello" before it began shouting at me. this is what it had to say:

"it's like ordering fucking chinese food with you guys: you gotta check it to make sure you got what you ordered."

i knew who was calling: i could recognize his douchey voice. there is only one client i do not like and that's who was calling. none of us like him. he's rude, arrogant, and always has rush orders with nineteen adjustments. also, i've never really had a bad experience with chinese food-- but i'm not as much of a dick as he is, so maybe that's why.

i promised to take a look at what could be done and blah, blah, blah, i'd call him back.

we looked at his file and determined that he is an idiot.

but at noon, i went to call him back, and the phone refused. at first, i thought it was because it didn't want to deal with him either-- but after trying to phone other stores and my own cell, i realized the line was simply dead.

"call telepacific," my boss said, "see what's going on."

"you know, their lines are probably dead too," i said slowly, "i mean if ours are. unless their phones are on... a different provider."

"what am i paying you for?" he shouted, "call telepacific."

i called them. and i was right: their phones were dead, too.

"call them again," my boss insisted.

i didn't argue that one. i called them again and their phones were still dead. this continued for about thirty minutes before my boss gave up and asked me to run over to barbacco to pick him up a shrimp sandwich.

sam cooke laughed at me, singing bring it to me, bring all your sweet lovin', bring it all home to me. and i wondered slightly if my assistant manager was going through his playlist, purposely playing certain songs just to fuck with my head. it was a strange enough day and he is a strange enough man-- i wouldn't put it past him.

i hate going to barbacco, but the office vibe was getting dangerous.