Office Intercom

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.

Ben Waterman is Miserable

Yesterday at work, because Ben had nothing to do, he asked me how my weekend was. I said it was good. He asked what happened that made it good. I said I didn't know. So why was it good? he interrogated me. I thought about it and said that nothing bad happened, so it was good. Ben didn't understand. You have a strange view on life, he told me, think about what happened to make it good, because I'll ask you again later. Oh I can't wait.

This made me realize that I'm generally a happy person--outside of work. Hanging out with my girl friend and watching silly TV shows with her makes me happy.

For Waterman to be happy, something has to happen. This is because he's always at work. He calls me about things from the office very late in the evening, and very early the next morning. I thought he might be living in there (which would explain all the files on the floor--they're his bed and blankets) until one Sunday he called me from his home. Nevertheless, he takes his work home with him, and law work is miserable, especially Ben's, which is mostly the recession-proof area involving dead people's estates. Maybe recessions are even better for the business in terms of volume, as maybe more people die during recessions (I don't know if this is true) because they're sadder, have less money, and are more stressed out.

The Spanish immigration lawyer also appears miserable. For weeks now he's been inviting lawyers in the suite to his Christmas party and getting angry when they say they're not sure they'll make it. Apparently he has no other friends. I find it funny, and a bit ironic, that he's trying to take work home to make himself happy.