| “Thank you for your interest in Butler University! Enclosed are materials describing our programs and admission policies. If you have any other questions, please do not hesitate to contact us.” Joe read the letter again. He wondered if they’d added something else in invisible ink. Maybe if he held the letter up to a flame he would see something like “thank you for your inquiries about Atherton Center; we are happy to answer your question, as it was quite clear and direct.” Probably not. He went down the hall, knocked on the boss’ door. “Got a minute?” “Sure.” Bill sounded tired, but he always sounded tired Monday mornings. Joe couldn’t help wondering if this was a different sort of tired, though. “That Butler University match account. Remember?” “Jog me.” “Old account, large reorders, every year or so. Indianapolis.” “Right, right. What’d you learn?” A few weeks ago the boss had dropped the match on Joe’s desk, told him a story. His son had gone to Butler years before, which is when he’d sold the account. He got fundraising letters from time to time, and one of them had described how Atherton Student Center burned down – they had a building drive for a new one. Made him wonder if this picture was the old one or the new one. Write them a letter, would you? He had. “They just sent me information on how to apply. Nothing about whether it was the old building or the new one. Didn’t even read the letter, it looks like.” “Hm.” He looked up at Joe. “Did you want to apply?” “No.” “Well, then we’ve really struck out.” He chewed his lip. “I suppose if they haven’t made any requests to change the design, we could assume it’s the new one.” “I could call them up.” “Oh, I hate to spend the money. Still, the order comes back, we might have to eat the cost. Okay, call ‘em up.” “Will do.” Joe got an operator, put a call through to Butler’s main number, and was transferred to Atherton Student Center. He kept an eye on the clock – it wasn’t his dime, but he had that natural sense of urgency you got when you made a long-distance call . . ah. “Student Union. Henry.” “Hello, I’m calling from the Cleveland office of Midwestern Match. I wonder if you help me out with a question about your building. Could you –“ “What?” The voice was reedy and peeved. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. You’re calling from Cleveland about our building? Which one?” “The one you’re in. Atherton?” “Yes? What about it?” “Could you just look at your matches, and tell me if that’s what the building looks like?” “We don’t have any matches. We ran out. Who is this?” “I’m calling from the Cleveland office of Midwestern Match. We make your matches, and I have a picture of your building here, but it could be old. We don't know. So I'm calling to see if this picture is the one that burned down, or not." There was a pause, and Joe wondered if he’d lost the connection. “You make the matches and you want to know if the building burned down?" Henry finally said. "Yes. Exactly. It's not that hard." College boy. "Everyone knows that story," Henry said, annoyed. "Well, I don't. Can you remember what the picture looked like, and whether it's the building you're in now?" "I suppose it would help if I put the phone down and went outside to look? And then someone jumps out of the bushes and pulls my pants down again while someone else unscrews the phone and puts shaving cream in the earpiece? You Delts stop bugging me, okay?” The line went dead. Joe scowled at the receiver. The idiot thought this was a frat prank. He went down the hall to the boss’s office, but saw him sitting with his back to the door, facing the window. He let him be. Joe went back to the office, found the order form, and wrote NO CHANGE in big letters with the black grease pencil. There. He thought a moment, then got out his fountain pen and wrote in careful letters: “Design approved by Henry.” In case anyone at Butler asked. Joe put the order in an envelope and smiled. "Rah, rah." he said. "Go Delts." |
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