on?”
“I’m sooo sooo sorry.” She releases a nervous laugh. “I still don’t understand whatcha going on aboot!”
Something inside me becomes unhinged. “I WANT TO SELL YOU SOMETHING. DO I HAVE YOUR PERMISSION?”
Gosh. I don’t mean to spell it out for her. It just sounds so crass when put like that.
“Oh me goodnees-eh. Well why didn’tcha just say so in da first place? Sure, sure,” she tweets.
As it turns out, the caller, Marlene Dushek, is a really sweet old lady and I immediately detect her Wisconsin accent.
“So,” my voice softens like it always does when I’m confronted with sweet old ladies; they tend to bring out the best in me. “Are you from Wisconsin, Miss Dushek?” I ask amiably.
She chuckles heartily. “You betcha! I’m a cheese head through and through. And a Packer fan too, don’t-cha-know?”
“Go Packers!” I cheer. “And which part of Wisconsin?”
“Oconomowoc,” she says in a heavy Wisconsinite accent. “It’s a varrry nice place up narth. And I’ve lived here for over seventy years.”
I stifle a laugh. To most Wisconsinites, everything is ‘up north.’ I spent many muggy summers in Green Bay with my Aunt Sally, and whenever I asked her where we were going, her reply was always, “Up narth.” No matter if we were headed just down the street, or to the south, east or west, her compass only pointed one direction—North.
“Miss Dushek,” I say, veering it back to business, “what can I help you with today?”
“Yah. I’ve been stuck on yer website furrr weee hours. And I can’t get on tuh any ooother sites.”
I decide to try the oldest trick in the book. “Miss Dushek, can you please reboot your computer?”
“Oh-kie doh-kie,” she chirrups. “If you don’t mind eh, I’ll just do some dishes while my komputarrr boots up.”
“Sure go right ahead,” I say with a smile in my voice.
I hear the faucet cranking, followed by the sound of gushing water, and in the background, I hear the rollicking rhythms and heavy accordion sounds of polka music. This polka song sounds like an upbeat mariachi band at a wedding.
Absently, I pick up my pen and doodle on my notepad.
I heart Mika I heart Mika I heart Mika
Then I draw swirly flowers and creeping vines all around it. After filling up a page chock full of fancy swirls, squiggly lines and doodles, all proclaiming my love for Mika, I check in with Miss Dushek. “Has your computer booted up ma’am?”
“Oh yeah! It did. I’m sooooo varrry sorry, I fergahht that you were still on hold,” she chirrups, amidst the sound of ceramic dishes clanking about.
“And did that fix the problem?”
“You bet-cha! Thank you so much. You did good. And thank you for being so patient with me. Now dearie, I’d simply love to send you some of my famous homemade salsa.”
“Trust me Miss Dushek, I’d love to try your salsa. But I’m clear out in Idaho and even if I did live in Wisconsin, it’s against company policy to accept gifts.”
“That’s such a silly policy,” she tinkles. “Now why don’tcha tell me more aboot whatcha wish to sell. I’m all ears now.”
Since she has given me the green light, I pitch the sale, “Well ma’am, we’re also a cell phone provider and if you sign up for our service and bundle it with your DSL bill, it’ll help you save some money.”
“Oh. But I am blind as a bat. I think I need dat special kinda phone furr older folks. Ya-know, one of ‘em Jitterbug phones?”
I’m really not an aggressive seller, so I say, “That’s okay, Miss Dushek, whatever works for you.”
“Thanks again, sweetie,” she coos and hangs up.
Over my lunch break, Kars and I traipse over to Mika’s cubicle. Hovering by his side, I tap him lightly on the shoulder. He looks up, catches my eye and smiles. I can tell that he’s on a call, so I mouth, “Do you want to join us for lunch?”
He jabs his MUTE button on the phone. “I can’t,” he says ruefully. “I’m afraid I’ll be stuck on this call for a while. This caller’s system is FUBAR.”
Kars and I immediately get it.
FUBAR = Fucked Up Beyond All Repair or Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.
“Okay, see ya later then,” I bid him adieu.
When we’re safely out of earshot, I grumble, “I haven’t even gotten a chance to thank him.”
Kars tilts her chin. “Thank him for what?”
“Oh that reminds me! Wait here a sec.”
I nip back to my cubicle and fetch my heart shaped cinnamon roll, then I bound back