The day the phone rang, Chip Wilson answered as he had been trained, “Operator.â€?
A thrill went down his spine, took a detour through his left shoulder and down the arm that was holding his mug, then, inexplicably, moved to his right hip where it dissipated slowly.
“Um. Hello?â€?
“How may I direct your call?â€? Chip was annoyed. He’d studied for months to pass the test; waited for an opening; aced the interview, and had been at this quiet station for almost 3 months. Nobody dialed 0 anymore. And now his first caller was clueless about the protocol.
“Uh.â€?
Pacing his cubicle filled with dust and wire, Chip adjusted his headset and tried to keep his cool. “Identify.â€?
“What?â€?
“Identify yourself.â€? His console blinked “TRACE COMPLETE ,â€? then a dossier reading “Plankton, Oscar — Deceased.â€?
“Plankton.â€?
Chip sat down. The day seemed full of firsts. “Oscar?â€?
“No, Mel. Oscar was my… I need help.â€?
Chip knew the response to that scenario. He hit a few keys on his keyboard causing another light to blink. “Help is on the way.â€?