There's a fancy, though somehow deffective phone on my desk at the office. Yesterday, Ben discovered that all the phones in the suite are connected by an intercom system.
And so it began--
My phone started making noises and I jumped. Then Ben's voice was there, right next to me. With panic I looked over my shoulder. Ben was in his office, fiddling with his phone. What the hell?
He said my name again. "Are you there?"
Who the frack is talking to me? "Yes? Ben?"
"Yeah. Did you know we [garbled, indecipherable speech]."
"Excuse me?"
"We have [garbled, indecipherable speech]."
"What?"
"We have an intercom!" Ben shouted from his office.
"Oh."
"[More garbled sounds from the phone.]"
"What?"
Ben shouts from his office, "I have a bill from the messenger service for a hand delivery to Park Avenue. Do you remember what that was about?"
"Um, I think that's from the Smith case."
"Don't [garbled noise.]"
"You don't have to shout, use the intercom!" Ben shouted.
"It's the Smith case. Copies of documents for their new lawyer," I said sceptically at the phone.
"Wha--"
"Smith case. Documents for new lawyer."
"[Static]"
I get up from my chair, take ten steps to Ben's door. "Smith case. Documents for new lawyer."
"Oh, right. Thank you."
Five minutes later, my phone beeps again. And so it went, all morning until Ben's luncheon, when I could finally do my work in peace.
