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Like every good, hard-working American, Francis Parker loved his job. He had an uncanny knack for answering phones, and an unbeatable skill when it came to dealing with abnormally irate people. Every day, he woke up happy, hardly able to wait to get to his office and do what he did best: handle the impatient, upper-crust patrons of one of Los Angeles� many mildly prominent graphic design firms.
That, of course, is an out and out lie. As a matter of fact, Francis Parker despised his job and everything about it. Every time the phone rang, he would shudder and have to force himself to answer it and speak civilly. Nearly six years of dealing with the constant complaining of a seemingly endless supply of unsatisfied customers had almost completely soured him on life as a whole. There were so many unhappy customers that Francis often wondered how Perfect Day Graphic Designing maintained its �mildly prominent� status- and how, with a name like that, they weren�t repeatedly sued for false advertising. It�s no concern of mine, anyway, Francis would tell himself every time he went on this tangent.
It was a Friday afternoon in the middle of August. Francis sat at his desk in his usual bad mood, staring anxiously at his watch. 4:58, he thought. Can�t I go home yet?
The phone rang. Francis sighed loudly. The sound of his sigh triggered a voice in his head- the ever-pestering voice of reason. Quiet, it told him. You don�t want the boss to hear, do you? He sighed even louder at that. In a highly dejected manner, he picked up the phone.
�Yeah?� Francis said gruffly. It was too late to bother being polite. The garbled voice on the other end of the phone muttered something along the lines of �blah, blah, blah, money back�. Francis looked at his watch again. It was 5:00 (at last!).
�I�m sorry, business hours are over,� Francis said, stifling his unprovoked glee. �You�ll have to call back on Monday.� He hung up without waiting for a reply. Then, he sighed again.
Why did I tell you to call back Monday?� Francis said to the phone on his desk. �I don�t want to deal with you on Monday, either.�
He put his head in his hands and sat there, miserable. If he wasn�t making such good money, he would have just quit and gone somewhere else. Francis, though unhappy with his job, did realize he had a pretty easy gig. It�s just so discouraging, though, he thought. I�m not going anywhere.
�Hey,� said a voice from the doorway of Francis� office. It was Jeff Vargas, his office neighbor and fellow warrior to end unhappiness among Perfect Day�s customers. �It�s after 5:00,� Jeff continued, �Let�s get outta here.�
Jeff was the closest thing Francis had to a friend, and the only person he worked with that he could stomach the sight of outside of the office.
�That�s probably a good idea,� Francis answered. �I�m going insane.�
�I know the feeling,� Jeff said. He shared Francis� love for the job.
As they walked out of the building, they regaled each other with tales of the people they�d had to listen to over the course of the day. It was a tradition.
�Here�s a good one,� Jeff began. �So, this guy calls up, right? He�s from that place down the street, you know, he came in last week.�
�Yeah, that software place,� Francis said.
"Right. So he says, �What�s going on? You said someone would get back to me about my company�s logo design, and no one has,� or something like that, so I tell him, you know, the designers have been busy lately, with the productivity meetings and all that.�
�Uh huh,� Francis said.
�So then he just makes this noise like he�s choking or something and says, �Well, if you don�t tell them to get working, then I�m gonna come down there and into one of their little meetings and give them a piece of my mind!� But the thing of it is�- Jeff started to laugh- �I wish you could�ve heard this guy. The way he said it, it was like he meant it, you know? Like he was being this big tough guy, all threatening and whatnot. But he just sounded like a jerk. So I hung up on him.�
�I don�t know about that,� Francis said with a chuckle, �I think I would have been too afraid to hang up on him. People like that, they�re the ones you have to watch out for.�
�Yeah, I�ll keep that in mind,� Jeff said. By now, they had reached his car. Jeff took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car door. �You want to go get a drink or something, man?� he asked Francis.
"Nah,� Francis replied. �I kinda want to go home and rest. Rough day, as usual.�
�Suit yourself.� Jeff got into his car and pulled out of his parking spot. Francis gave him an unenthusiastic wave as he drove away.
�Strange guy,� Francis muttered. �Really strange.�
Don�t think things like that. It was the Voice of Reason again. That attitude�s the reason you�ve got no friends.
It wasn�t that Francis didn�t own a car. He did have one, and it was a nice one, too. He just hated to deal with the traffic on the way to work, so he took a cab there and back. He usually walked a few blocks from the office before catching a cab home- it was nice to get some exercise after sitting all day. It wasn�t that Francis thought he needed the exercise; it was just that sitting got so tedious, especially after nine hours of it in a row. Besides, he never minded looking at the shops he passed along the way.
I�m not window-shopping, Francis would always tell himself as he peered into the store windows he passed. Guys don�t window-shop. I�m just looking. I have no intention to buy anything. I don�t need a $1,000 handbag, anyway. Francis stopped walking. Was he seeing right? $1,250 for a handbag? A handbag?
�That�s not just expensive, that�s overpriced. Ridiculously overpriced,� Francis muttered. �And it�s so homely.� The bag was bright pink and orange with these odd, swirling green symbols on it and tiny beige straps. And, to top it all off, it was only about the size of an eyeglass case.
