{"id":170,"date":"2016-04-16T09:20:26","date_gmt":"2016-04-16T13:20:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/?page_id=170"},"modified":"2016-04-26T12:09:31","modified_gmt":"2016-04-26T16:09:31","slug":"the-finer-things-in-life","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/stories\/the-finer-things-in-life\/","title":{"rendered":"The Finer Things in Life"},"content":{"rendered":"

Two months into her new job, school started. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The college was only two\u00a0blocks from her office. \u00a0\u00a0The college was a city campus–a dormitory, next to an administrative building, next to a bank, \u00a0then an historic building converted into classrooms. \u00a0It spread for a five-mile radius, intermixed with houses and businesses. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Her office, wasn\u2019t exactly \u201cher\u201d office. \u00a0\u00a0She was one of ten girls who answered phones in a large room. \u00a0That’s right, girls, all girls–no guys. \u00a0It was 1969 after all. The phones were actually boxes with speakers and microphones all mounted on swinging arms. \u00a0They were aligned in a row on a long counter that ran the length of the room. \u00a0When a phone rang, a red light would blink on the top of the \u201cbox\u201d. \u00a0To answer a phone, the girl standing or sitting on a rolling chair, nearest to it would push the <\/span>on <\/span><\/i>button. \u00a0\u00a0The blinking red light would turn green. \u00a0\u00a0The girl would politely announce the company\u2019s name followed by a cherry, \u201cMay I help you?\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Large computer ledgers containing customer account information were in front of each phone. \u00a0\u00a0The calls were routed to the appropriate phone based on the customer\u2019s account number. \u00a0\u00a0The girls used the ledger directly below the phone to obtain information for the customer. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No one could predict which customers would call or the volume of calls. \u00a0So the girls were not given specific stations. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hours for the day shift was 8:30 in the morning until 5:00, with two fifteen minute breaks and a half hour for lunch. \u00a0\u00a0No one took the breaks, opting instead for an hour lunch. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was on this fall, warm afternoon at one o\u2019clock, that Amy took her lunch hour. \u00a0\u00a0She walked three blocks to the park in the center of campus and found a bench. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She open her bagged lunch and nibbled at a sandwich. \u00a0She\u2019d brought her sketchbook and pencil with her thinking she\u2019d sketch some students as they came and went.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her job was meant to be part-time, just a summer job before she, herself would go off to college. \u00a0At least that was the plan. \u00a0But the money for school didn\u2019t come through, so the job became permanent. \u00a0She <\/span>was <\/span><\/i>taking a night course and the company was paying for <\/span>English 101<\/span><\/i>. \u00a0\u00a0Her boss had worked it out with Human Resources that the class qualified as <\/span>job-related <\/span><\/i>and would be paid for, that is provided she got a C or higher grade. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She finished her lunch and opened her sketchbook. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHi,\u201d he said as he sat down on the bench.<\/span><\/p>\n

Amy looked up. \u00a0\u00a0The man seated beside her smiled. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMind if I sit here?\u201d \u00a0He asked still smiling.<\/span><\/p>\n

Although she\u2019d rather sit and sketch quietly by herself, \u00a0she was a Southern girl and it wouldn\u2019t be polite to say \u201cyes, I mind\u201d. \u00a0\u00a0So she said, \u201cOK.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She continued to sketch. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He watched. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She found it disconcerting, being watch. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If she\u2019d been older than her eighteen, she\u2019d have said, \u201cDo you mind?\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He\u2019d have taken the hint and left. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If she\u2019d been older and braver, when he first presented himself, she\u2019d have said, \u201cI\u2019d \u00a0rather be alone, thank you.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She was young, she was naive, she was polite and she was uncomfortable. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI like the finer things in life,\u201d \u00a0he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s nice.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0She kept sketching.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow about you?\u201d \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI guess so.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She blocked in a figure.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI am here on business,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

She shaded in a face on the figure.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know my way around town,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

She looked up at him and the more she looked at him, the more she disliked him. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

His short-sleeve, white shirt was showing signs of sweat. \u00a0\u00a0His thin tie was loose at his neck. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The current style was wide ties. \u00a0She hated his mustache–a thin, pencil line of hair–like something from the nineteen-forties. \u00a0His black hair was slicked back with hair tonic. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His pants, light blue, \u00a0were a little too tight. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He wore a gold bracelet and the hair on his arms was thick and black. \u00a0\u00a0She shivered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I really do like the finer things in life,\u201d he repeated.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy hotel room is just in the next block.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was true. \u00a0\u00a0There was a hotel just one block away, in the middle of campus. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Yes, she was beginning to get the picture. \u00a0\u00a0She\u2019d had her suspicions. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Her mother had told her about things like this. \u00a0\u00a0\u201cBeastly\u201d her mother had said. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go to my hotel and enjoy the finer things in life,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

She closed her sketch book and stood up. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He smiled his toothy smile, his pencil mustache stretching over his lips. \u00a0He rubbed his sweaty hands on his trouser legs.<\/span><\/p>\n

If she\u2019d been a little older, a little more worldly, she would have said, \u201cfuck off,\u201d as she was walking away. \u00a0\u00a0But she wasn\u2019t, \u00a0so she just left and retraced her steps to the office. <\/span><\/p>\n

She never went back to the park to sketch nor ever enroll in college. \u00a0But she did make a fine career for herself in business where she learned to say \u201cfuck off\u201d in a variety of ways. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a9 Glenda Kotchish<\/span><\/p>\n

November 12, 2015<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Two months into her new job, school started. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The college was only two\u00a0blocks from her office. \u00a0\u00a0The college was a city campus–a dormitory, next to an administrative building, next to a bank, \u00a0then an historic building converted into classrooms. \u00a0It spread for a five-mile radius, intermixed with houses and businesses. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Her office, wasn\u2019t exactly […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":33,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-170","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/170","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=170"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/170\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":171,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/170\/revisions\/171"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/33"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=170"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}