“Ralph Turner speaking, how may I help you?”

“Are you a supervisor?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, it’s about time!  Now you listen here!  I ordered a brass floor lamp from your company three months ago and it never came.”

“Can I have your name and account number, please?”

“Miriam Stewart.  My account number is 843291.”

“Let me bring your account up on the screen.”  Turner typed the woman’s last name and account number into the computer.

“Here we are.  Miriam Stewart from the Bronx, correct?”

“Yes!”  She screamed into the phone.

“The lamp was shipped out two weeks ago.  You should have received it.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten anything! Why two weeks ago when I ordered it three months ago?”

“The lamp was on back order because we were out of stock.”

“Don’t you notify your customers when that happens?”

“Yes.  Usually we send out a postcard.  I don’t know why you never received that notice.  I’ll put a tracer on the package.”

“How long will that take?”

“Oh, about two years,” Turner replied.

“Very funny.  I don’t have time for your jokes, Mister.  Can you put a new order in for me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Company policy.  We can’t put a new order in until we trace the first shipment.”

“Your company stinks!”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“So, you’re telling me I waited all this time for nothing?”

“Bingo.”

“I don’t like your attitude.  You sound very unprofessional.”

“Thank you, I try my best.  Have a nice day.”  Turner disconnected the call.  He stared at the gray walls of his sound-proof cubicle.

“What an eye sore,” he grumbled.  His cubicle was slightly larger than the other cubicles in the customer service department—one of the “perks” of his supervisory position.

“I feel like I’m in a cage,” Turner sighed while he checked the messages on his voice mail.

“Hi, Ralph, Tony Rosa here.  I received a call from a Mrs. Rogan, account number 952176, who said she’s been trying to contact you for three weeks now.  Pretty upset.  Take care of it, okay?  The number is 201-555-2125.  Thanks.”

“Good old pass the buck Tony.  Sure I’ll take care of her Mr. Do nothing vice president.”  Turner dialed the number.

“Good morning, is Mrs. Rogan there?”

“Speaking.”

“Mrs. Rogan, this is Ralph Turner from the Home Delivery Club.”

“Finally!  I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks.  Your secretary takes my messages but you never call me back.  That’s why I called the vice president but he told me he couldn’t help me but he’d make sure you took care of everything.”

“Well, Mrs. Rogan, I’ll be honest with you.  I didn’t want anyone to know but, my wife passed away a few weeks ago and I haven’t been in the right frame of mind these days.  The work has really piled up on me.  I’m trying my best.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.  Oh, that’s terrible.  It makes my problems seem so minute.”

“Yes, it certainly does.  Hey, how about I call you in a couple of months to touch base, okay?”

“Wait, I need to---” Turner disconnected the call.

“Looks like I’m about due for a break,” Turner glanced at his watch.

Turner made his way past the rows of gray cubicles and headed for the Caf.  He laughed at the sign above the cafeteria entrance that stated:  “HDC: Where Quality & Service Are #1.”

He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee when a member of his customer service team approached him.  She was a short, heavy woman with bobbed red hair.

“Hi, Ralph.  Busy morning.  So far, I’ve handled fifty calls.  All delivery problems.  What’s going on with the shipments?”

“It’s always the same old story, Sue.  I worked my tail off this morning, too.”

* * * * * *

Turner finished his coffee and shook his head at the cafeteria’s bright orange walls.  The color was a subliminal attempt to stimulate the appetite of the workers but it just plain annoyed him.  He crushed the paper coffee cup and hurled it into the trash.  Break was over.

* * * * * *

“Here’s your mail, Ralph,” Gina, his secretary, placed the pile in the metal tray on his desk.

“Thanks,” Turner smiled.  He picked up the phone receiver and dialed his wife’s telephone number.

“Hi honey, it’s me,” Turner said as he took the contents of the metal tray and threw it in the garbage.

“Hi, Ralph.  How’s your day going?”

“Oh, just another day at the office, you know.”

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