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Bob picked up the phone and hit speed dial 4. The line rang once. He opened his email. The line rang a second time. Not accustomed to waiting, he started to get annoyed. Halfway through the third ring, someone answered.
“Yeah, it’s me again,” he shot angrily into the mouthpiece. “Never mind confirming my name. It’s me. Trust me. You ready for an order?”
There was a pause.
“All right,” he ordered, shifting the phone on his shoulder. “I want 18 Type A’s, 6 465B’s and 42 Type B’s. You got that?“
Bob listened intently as he read an email marked urgent.
“Good, then here’s what you’re going to do,” he said in rapid fire English. “Deliver 6 Type A’s, 1 465B and 14 Type B’s to Department J. Take 10 Type B’s 9, Type A’s and 4 465B’s to Department F. And pay attention to this one! They got shorted last time, I cost us an important client.” He paused to study the list on his desk.
“No, I’m not done,” he nearly shouted. “Take everything else to Department P, and make sure Villareal knows it’s there. Have you got all that?”
He listened for a few moments.
“Perfect,” he said, slightly calmer. “Ship that out right now--overnight it if you have to--and charge my inventory account.”
Bob’s face got red again as he listened.
“What do you mean ‘who is this’,” he exploded into the phone. "I told you it’s me! Do you like your job? What’s your name?”
He listened again.
“I said, what is your name, mister?”
He listened, and exploded again.
“What do you mean ‘it’s me’!”
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