No-Insulting-the-Good-People

"If you could just...acknowledge that you've stressed me out with all this, would be nice," Atta said, waving her hands at her desk, which was covered in angry, angry letters.

I bit the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. No one had ever written a letter before, and now they were trickling in every day. Furthermore, I had no idea the United States Postal Service would deliver a letter with "Fucking Idiot" from "Some Fucking Place" as the return address.

If only I had time for an assassination fantasy.

"And for the luvvagod call Slim back. Today."

It annoyed me when she called the owner "Slim", why couldn't she at least say "Mr. Slim"? It felt like they were teaming up against me.

I set my coffee down and looked at the phone. When I used to call Mr. Harenthal I could have pretty well become a pinball champion for all he would have noticed. But Slim was too invested in the conversation, asking questions, giving me time to answer, that kinda bullshit. He'd probably quietly listen to me sip my coffee and wait for me to finish before continuing. Ok. Deep breath.

Dialing. Ringing.

"Dorge?"

"Aaa-yeah, yeah, Slim. This is. Dorge"

"Great, how are ya, buddy?"

"Crazy busy down here, just...blam, sending these things out, you know? Wham-bam and gone, baby, gone," I leaned down to smell my coffee.

"That's great! Yes, seeing very consecutive posting dates, I'm liking that, Dorge. Traffic seems to be up too and everyone's excited about the numbers. There's one here in particular I'm looking at that has a lot of hits. Are you in front of your computer?"

Christ. "Yes, yeah right in front of me, which one are you looking at?" My Midgar.

"'My Midgar'. Yeah, the Walmart one?"

I know what the hell one it is. "Right, looking right at it. I was kinda worried it came off as a little, I dunno....ranty? But we've got a lot of hits on it, so."

"I don't know how I feel about that one, Dorge, " silence, did the call drop? " I don't think calling our readers "fucking idiots" is the direction we want to go in. I really don't think people tune in here to be called idiots or for your opinion on Walmart."

"It sounds like you're jerking my leash, here, Slim. I mean, it got the numbers up, didn't it?"

"Well, first," he paused on the other end, "I'm not jerking your leash. This is your baby, I'm just keeping the lights on. And second," another pause, "It's all well and good to get the numbers up but they're up by people who read that piece and aren't interested in coming back."

"I don't thi-,"

"You think these people are going to read that and then want to scroll around reading more? You think they're going to go out of their way to read "Goes on Inside" after you called them, and I quote, "fucking idiots", Dorge?"

I was drinking coffee.

"Dorge? Are you listening? Afraid your coffee's getting cold?"

"What do you want me to do, here, Slim? You want me to just take it down? Is that the answer you're trying to guide me towards? Just, what? Just...deflate my conviction?"

"Please, you didn't even back up anything with other sources. Conviction. You can write about what you want to, just please don't insult people in the very first sentence. I mean, look at this "Slacker Conservative" guy over here. He's not calling people fucking idiots."

"Yeah, but that guy...,"

"That guy's crazy, I agree, but still. I wanted to mention I was happy to see you linking to him, it shows...,"

"Temperament? Compassion?" I offer.

"Yeah, Dorge, you're a saint," some joviality seemed to be seeping back into his voice. Ok, so, please? With the No-Insulting-the-Good-People?"

"Ok, Slim. Alright, I'm writing it down," as I write it in the air with my imaginary pink and blue quill.

"I'll call in a week, or so. And Dorge? I was glad to see the numbers up."

I put the reciever down and drank my coffee, which was still surprisingly warm. I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling, yelling, "Atta, I acknowledge that I've stressed you out with all this stuff. And furthermore acknowledge you're awesome."

"Thank you," was the reply, muffled by the door.