Simon blinked. Marchson Appliances’ call center occupied the 37th floor of the Sears Tower. Through the windows he saw taxicabs moving along the street like tiny yellow bugs. He briefly entertained the notion of shoving Mr. Vanderhan out the window.
“Why?” said Simon.
Mr. Vanderhan snorted. “You don’t know?”
Simon folded his arms. “No, I really don’t.”
But he did. He wasn’t going to give Vanderhan the satisfaction, though.
Mr. Vanderhan rolled his eyes. “I’ll be blunt, Wester. You’re arrogant. You’re abrasive to the other employees. You’re consistently rude to the customers.”
Simon shook his head. “You just described yourself.”
Mr. Vanderhan smirked. “I’m the boss. It’s allowed.”
“I am not rude to the customers,” said Simon.
Mr. Vanderhan laughed. “What did you tell the last one? She called corporate headquarters, and I got an earful about that.”
“She deserved it,” said Simon. “She was an absolute idiot. Maybe she won’t let her son shove Barbie dolls into the toaster next time.”
“Educating people is the job of social services, which you are not,” said Vanderhan. “You are, or were, a customer service representative. Your job was to be nice to the customer. Your job was to assist the customer, no matter how big of an asshole the customer happened to be. And I don’t care how many degrees you have. It is not your job to lecture the customer.” The elevator door hissed open. Two men in security uniforms stepped out. “Look, Wester. It doesn’t matter how many degrees you have. You have to put in a day’s work like anyone else. Don’t put me down as a reference on your resume. Security will escort you from the building.”
Simon scowled. “Don’t I get to clean out my desk…”
“No. Your possessions will be mailed to you in four to six weeks. Goodbye, Wester.” Vanderhan walked away.
“Come along, sir,” said the security men. They herded Simon towards the elevator.
Simon glanced at his watch. “It would have been lunchtime.”