The Lovely Chocolate Mob by Richard J. Bennett Page B

engineering firm in Lovely. The bosses are pleasant enough, and they’ve learned to leave me alone in my work area, which means I usually have all day to coordinate drawings correctly. They come by a few times during the day to touch base and make sure we’re on the same page, but since I’m their best worker and really don’t care for interruptions, they only stay as long as they have to. I’m a civil engineer, and we have a civil relationship. If they ask reasonable questions and give reasonable suggestions, I’ll listen and talk with them. If they’re just talking to be talking, I have to bite my tongue to not be rude. I know more than they do about any project in the building and they know it, although it’s not said. If I chose to, I could have been one of the managers and bosses, but then I wouldn’t be an engineer, would I? Why did I go to school to learn how to be an engineer if I were going to be a people manager? I went to school to become an engineer, and an engineer I’ll stay until I retire, which, I hope, won’t be too far in the future.
    The pay is fair, not great, but fair, which is why I don’t bolt and sell out to another firm. I know I could demand more money, based on the sheer quality and quantity of my work, but I don’t really like to raise the stress levels at work. Plus, if they paid me more, they might expect me to put out more work. I’m doing the best I can now, and I really don’t need that extra pressure. I give them good work. I get paid a fair wage. That’s good enough.
    Another perk is the hours I work, Monday through Friday with weekends and holidays off. If a project is due, I’ll work late at my desk into the night, and the bosses appreciate that. If I want to go to the doctor, they let me go, no questions asked; if I want to take a day off, they understand that also, with minimal interference. Since I outwork and many times guide their other engineers, I’m seen as a somewhat valuable commodity, which works in my favor. Understand that I don’t cheat them; I just like to have flexible hours.
    This isn’t the best atmosphere to make friends; if something goes wrong, everybody steps back so as to not catch the blame. Everybody is watching out for himself, and I guess that’s fair, too, but it doesn’t really help to build trust in this environment.
    The best thing about work is, I really don’t have to talk to anybody if I don’t want to. I can take breaks and be in touch with anybody I need to contact concerning outside issues. Since I was at work and it was break time, I figured I needed to call an old friend, Walter Dale. The problem with that, though, is I don’t know how.
    I do have a few other friends from high school and college who might know where he is. I immediately called Gary Byers, a friend in common and a florist in town; perhaps he could help.
    I dialed, or push-buttoned, the business number, and an employee answered, “Byers’ Florist, how can I help you?”
    “Yes sir,” I said, “I need to speak with Gary.”
    “Is he expecting your call?”
    “No, I’m an old friend from school days.”
    “Hold on.”
    I liked these kinds of conversations. The fellow on the other end of the line was strictly business and loyal to his employer; that’s something I could respect. About a minute rolled by. The employee returns to the phone. “Gary wants to know who’s calling.”
    “Tell him it’s Randall Owen.”
    “Just a minute.”
    I waited another minute, then heard another line pick up on the other end.
    “Randall! How are you doing? What have you been up to?”
    “Hello, Gary. Everything’s fine; I need a favor.”
    “Sure, anything. What do you need?”
    “I need to speak with Walter.”
    There was a moment of silence. “I’m afraid I don’t know any Walter.”
    “Come on, Gary. We went to high school together!”
    “We’re having a sale this week on day lilies. If you’d come in, I could show them to you personally. Some of the