It was Wednesday and I’d just come back from getting two chicken salad sandwiches to-go from Mrs. C’s Carolina Café. They used to make the best chicken salad sandwiches in the world. As I approached my desk I noticed the proofs from Friday night sitting in the corner of my cubicle. “Oh man,” I thought, “I need to tell Ron about this!”
“Ron,” I said from his doorway, “Charlie from Hennigan called Friday night.” Total abject horror covered his face as he spun in his chair lunging for the phone on his credenza. “Wait,” I said, “I need to tell you what happened.” Slowly he turned, gesturing for me to sit down; I had his full attention. I explained what happened Friday night and what I’d told Charlie. “The mustard is a little hot, back off on the red, it looks like the black plate is a little right of register, fix that and everything else looks good.”
Ron asked to see the proofs. I brought them to him and he carefully reviewed them on his light board with his magnifying lens. After what felt like an eternity he looked up and asked, “How’d it feel?” “How’d what feel?” I asked back. “What happened Friday night,” he replied. “Well,” I said, “I hated not being able to contact you but once I’d answered the phone I knew I had some decisions to make.” “How’d it feel making the decisions?” he probed. “Fine I guess. I knew the situation and what had to happen; if I didn’t handle it stuff was going to be late.” Ron nodded as he attentively listened.
“You did good,” he said, “I’ll be getting back with you.” Getting back with me about what?
