Zorba the Greek wouldn’t survive this job long. He would spit, tighten his belt and walk out – grabbing Shelly from her cubicle by the doors on the way out. Shelly would go, too. Her pale fingers would clutch Zorba’s broad and calloused hand, and he would practically drag her to the elevator. Encircling his arm around her ample waist, he’d shake his fist at the gaping herd of cubicled daydreamers and bellow, “We go outside where God can see us better!”
Steven wished he was more like Alexis Zorba.
Alexis Zorba had passion. Shelly probably liked passionate men.
Steven carefully put his glasses back on and repositioned the headset. While the Monday night movie continued its mocking mental replay, he pushed the button and waited for connection. Steven's eyes drifted unconsciously to the beige cubicle wall that harbored Shelly as he spoke. “Hello, this is Alex in Tech Support – may I have your telephone number, area code first, please?”