Rhubarb by M. H. van Keuren Page B

the arm of
some—very nice, I’m sure—online predator. That, somehow, was worse than aliens.
    Martin’s phone rang. He thought about ignoring it but
decided he couldn’t cope with one of Rick’s Homeric epic voicemails. Or worse,
Rick would ping the locator in the truck. Martin had found out about that the
hard way. He had ignored a call one day, only to have Rick call the manager at
the next store.
    “Were you asleep?” Rick asked when Martin answered.
    “I’m driving,” said Martin.
    “According to FASsys, you visited four accounts today. I
thought we were trying to make it at least five,” said Rick.
    “I got to everyone I could,” said Martin.
    Rick harrumphed, and clicked on a keyboard. “I’m coming out
to see you, Marty,” he said.
    “When?” Not now. Please not now.
    “Soon. I’m about to send you an email. There’s a memo from
corporate attached. Going out to all the account reps. A new program they’re
rolling out.”
    “Why doesn’t this sound good?” Martin asked.
    “No, this will streamline your workflow,” said Rick. Martin
rolled his eyes. “The goal is to transition much of the product ordering and
inventory maintenance to the stores themselves. Accounts will be able to log
into FASsys through a web app. It’ll even link up with their existing
point-of-sale system. Real slick.”
    “A lot of my accounts don’t even have a computer, let alone
Internet access,” said Martin.
    “Then we’ll provide them with a FASsys PDA setup,” said
Rick. “They’ll only need a phone line. I assume they have telephones.”
    “This sounds like corporate’s trying to phase out the
account reps,” said Martin.
    “We’ll never do without account reps. Don’t even worry about
that. But the service cycle can be stretched out. We may even be able to
consolidate some territories. You might have a bigger region but actually spend
less time out on the road. How’s that sound?”
    There’s no way the math added up on that. “This kind of
thing won’t be easy for a lot of my accounts,” said Martin. “These are little
places, understaffed and fighting for their lives. They appreciate someone
coming in every month to maintain things.”
    “We’re confident that the price incentives will be
persuasive,” said Rick. “Okay, I’ve sent out the email. I’ll let you know when
I’m coming. We’ll spend a few days pitching to a dozen or so accounts, and then
you’ll be off and running.”
    Thanks for the shovel, Rick. I’ll just dig my grave right
over here, shall I? Specifications for graves could be found on Page 392 of the
FastNCo. employee handbook. And…call waiting.
    “Are you there?” asked Rick.
    “I’m here,” said Martin.
    “I’ll need you to reply back and acknowledge that you
received the memo,” said Rick. Call waiting.
    “Got it,” said Martin.
    “Everything else going okay?”
    “Going fine,” said Martin. Except for…well…you know…
    Finally rid of Rick, Martin answered the other call.
    “Thought I was going to have to leave a message,” said
Jeffrey.
    “Talking to my boss. What’s up?”
    “You still in the job market?” asked Jeffrey.
    “Does a bear crap in the woods?”
    “Good. Now, it’s not a sure thing yet, but I might be
getting a transfer. The Denver region might be opening up, and I’m on the short
list. That, of course, would leave a handy little void up here.”
    “Wow,” said Martin.
    “I mentioned you to my regional manager. They’d love to have
someone who knows the territory,” said Jeffrey. “You interested?”
    “Yeah. I mean, I can’t make any commitments, but I’d be
happy to talk to someone,” said Martin.
    “Cool. I’ll let him know,” said Jeffrey. “How you getting on
with that girl from Brixton? You her shining knight yet?”
    Martin opened his mouth to tell Jeffrey about Cheryl but
stopped. He would find out soon enough. Eileen and Lorie’s gossip-senses would
start tingling next time Jeffrey got within