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“Me? Oh, yes. Thank you, except…” She pointed at the two computer monitors on her desk. “I usually prefer to work with three monitors.”
“I’ll get you one.” I would? Where had that come from? I never did menial tasks myself. I delegated. Gave orders. My time was too valuable for mundane stuff like this. But for some reason, this seemed important to me.
I wasn’t going to waste my time analyzing why. I would ignore it. Simple as that. This feeling would fade. Hopefully soon.
She waved her hands. “Someone in your position shouldn’t have to do that. I simply need the number for IT. Or maybe your assistant…?”
“She isn’t here today.” I turned on my heel before I offered to do something else completely out of character, and in two strides, I was in my office. “I’ll handle it,” I said as I closed the door.
How would I handle it without Aunt Mable? Once I was at my desk, I picked up the phone and paused. What was the number for IT?
Shit.
Aunt Mable always handled these things. I simply had to bark out my orders, and the next thing I knew, everything I needed appeared on my desk within an hour.
Should I call her?
No. I didn’t want to give her a reason to leave the clinic before Dr. Lewis had done all the tests.
I really hoped her results would come back fine. At her age, she should think about retiring, but I didn’t want another assistant. On the other hand, I didn’t want her getting sick because of the job. Because of me.
I dialed one of the few extensions I knew. John answered on the third ring. “What’s up?”
“What’s the extension for IT?”
“Ha! Mr. Hotshot thinks he’s all that, but you’re hopeless without Mable.”
“Just give me the fucking number.”
“What do you need? I’ll have my assistant contact them.”
I should take him up on his offer. It would be so much simpler. “I want to do it myself.”
Silence. Had he hung up on me? “John?”
“Ok, hang on. I had to clean my ears because…whaaat?”
This was a bad idea. Ms. Bloom could have waited until tomorrow for the extra screen. Aunt Mable would have gotten her whatever she needed. “Give me the damn extension. Oh. Wait. Maybe you don’t know it either, Mr. CEO.”
“4357. If you can’t remember that, you spell out HELP on the dial-pad.”
Ah shit, he did know it. I grunted my thanks and quickly hung up. Then I dialed 4357.
“IT,” a bored nasal voice answered.
I would need to have a talk with the Director of IT. If employees had time to be bored, then there was something very wrong in the department. “Get me a computer screen. Now. Top floor.”
“We need a manager’s approval. Fill out form 34B and send it—”
I stared at the receiver in disbelief. “Do you know who I am, kid?”
“The rules apply to all employees.”
“I’m the CFO, you little…Get me a screen. Now.”
I slammed the phone down, then picked it up right away and called the Director of IT. There was no answer, so after the beep, I let out my frustration. “What the hell, George! What kind of incompetent shit is this? You don’t take calls from the CFO? Your employee on the so-called HELP line sounds like he just woke up from a pot-induced coma. Whip your department into shape. Oh, and get me a damn computer screen.”
Why was such a simple task so complicated? I slammed the handset onto the base, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
