Odd day

I feel like writing. How’d you like to read about my day?

It started at 10 minutes after 7 when my cab arrived. The mere fact that a Milwaukee cab arrived so smack-dab on time is something to write about in itself. Milwaukee cabs, you see, are notorious for their tardiness when it comes to picking up people with service animals. And, yes, you are required to specify that they will be transporting a dog, because they’ve also been known to spot the would-be passenger, slow down, notice the dog, and then peel right out of there like a banana waking up in a blender. I kid you not. They’ve seen me with Chutney and left more than once.

Partway through the morning I went to the front desk to be the receptionist because our official one has gone and broken his ankle or something, and us e-commercers are splitting up time covering for him. This is fine. There’s invoicing to do during the downtimes up there. So I did that. And people came in and out and I listened in on the chatter from the offices down the hall. Some guy waiting for his appointment with one of our contractors got kind of flirty, and I tried to hit the right balance of perky/professional and felt a lot like Pam from The Office.

I’m addicted to The Office. I hear the British one’s even better … I think I’ll be checking Net Flics for that soon!

Then, an oddness occurred; a blatant oddness I’d rather have avoided.

Someone stopped in for an appointment with Chuck, the company president.

So far, so good. Someone very business-sounding outside my little reception window wants Chuck. I will call said Chuck post haste.

Ring-ring-ring-[Come on, Chucky, pick it up. There's someone named Ben who's probably actually kind of important and I don't want to look like I can't find you]-ring-ring-ring.

“I’ll just ring through somewhere else,” I tell Ben.

“Tell him it’s Ben. He is expecting me.”

Meanwhile, I’m thinking about what I just said and what a dits I am as I dial a completely unrelated extension. What am I thinking? Ring through? … What BS. How does one ‘ring through’ exactly? Sounds painful. And why was I calling his son now — what would I say when he picked up? Ummm, hey there, Seej! Where’s your daddy?”

So I hung up and decided to page Chuck instead.

Just as I heard the echoing tone announcing to the whole of the plant, the offices, the warehouse, God and everybody that I was about to page someone, it hit me. I’ve heard and conducted many a-page in my brief stay here, but never have I heard anyone page Mr. Chuck himself.

Suddenly, that little fact mattered very much. Simple deduction, my dear Watson. Perhaps the reason we’ve never heard a Chuck page in all our lives is because it simply isn’t done. Perhaps you don’t just blare out orders to the Pres with the plant, the offices, the warehouse, God and everybody listening on.

So I hung up and dialed Steve instead.

‘Yeah?’

[very quietly and turned casually away from His Ben-ness] ‘Yeah. Do we page Chuck?’

What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’ve never heard anyone page Chuck before, and there’s someone to see him, but I don’t know if it’s done.’

‘I’ll page Chuck. Then if something bad happens, I’ll take the wrap for you.’

I wasn’t sure what to think of this, but I let him go to town, and I went on dialing Chuck’s number unsure what else to do.

Archie came by presently to plop another stack of invoicing down in front of me. ‘How ya doin’ here?’

I’m fine. There’s someone here for Chuck.’

‘You called Chuck?’

‘Yes. He’s not there.’

‘Did you page him?’

[blushing] ‘No … But, Steve is.’

‘What? Why Steve?’

‘… Well, I wasn’t sure if … I’d never heard anyone page Chuck before …’

At this point, Arch begins to laugh at me. ‘So you called Steve and told him to do it instead?’

[blushing, blushing, feeling stupid stupid stupid ...

And Chuck comes. Arch stops him in front of me and God and Ben and everybody and tells him that I didn’t tell him Ben was here because I didn’t think Chuck ever got paged! And they both break out laughing endlessly.

I buzz Ben in and they all greet him like old beer buddies. At this point, I am nearly kicking myself thinking, Duh, Sas. Of course you can page Chuck. He’s not the king of Hajmanistan after all. Why would a guy who calls himself Chuck not be pageable? And he hangs out with just plain Ben! What. Were. You. Thinking?

On his way by the desk, Chuck says, ‘Sarah, page Rick, would you? Have him come to my office.’

So, barely thinking, I pick up the phone and hear the cavernous echos over the plant as someone really quite blond in the head says, ‘Rick Weingold, please go to Chuck’s office. Rick Weingold, go to Chuck’s … ah … his office.’

To top it all off, Arch moves to my shoulder and says, ‘The correct terminology is, ‘Please report to Chuck’s office … either that or, Yo, Rick! You get your sorry a** over to Chuck’s office like yesterday or else.’

And that does it for the scribe-worthy content of my day.