The Dixie Drug Company was thriving when the year 2045 arrived in Chicago. The multi-storied building on the city's south side came alive at five o'clock every morning and did not become silent again until late at night. Time seemed to evaporate inside the large brick building during the week, and for many of the workers, their weekends were also consumed there. The employees could not keep track of the days, much less the hours they spent laboring for the drug company. All the customary tensions that resulted when stressed-out individuals tried to work together were evident during a typical day at Dixie.
As the company's office manager, Cori Fitzgerald often bore the brunt of her co-workers' frustrations. She had been given the position over the objections of many veteran employees, who believed that the young woman in her mid-20s would quickly wilt under the pressure. On some occasions, Cori almost fulfilled their expectations. Yet for the last two years she had performed well enough to be rewarded with a sizeable bonus.
"What's new and exciting, Fitzy?" asked Jack Ruderman, one of the company's pharmacists, as he walked into her office one afternoon.
"If I have to tell you, you're totally numb," she responded with a grin.
"Oh, so you've heard about this place being sold?"
"No, I didn't," she replied, with concern in her voice.
"Yeah, a group of investors wants to buy it. And management is probably interested, since we'll
be heading into the downside of the boom and bust economic cycle before too long." "What makes you think that?"
"It's inevitable. Things have been good for several years, and most people are doing well financially. So now it's time for the rug to be pulled out from under all of us. Layoffs and long bouts of unemployment are just around the corner."
"I'm glad you came by to tell me that," Cori said sarcastically. "You'd think someone would find a better system.""You'd also think they'd find a cure for the common cold," Jack pointed out.
"Well, that wasn't what I was talking about anyway. It's Saint Patrick's Day!" she exclaimed, pointing to the Erin go Braugh button pinned to her shirt.
"Oh, right. This is the day that all you Irish types try to drink all the booze in town."
"Not just try. We succeed."
"Where are you going? Maybe I'll stop by and get some lessons from you."
Cori hesitated. While she thought Jack would be pleasant company (though too soft spoken, and
tall for someone of her stature), the tepidness Cori displayed was attributable to his desire to start a serious relationship with her. At this moment in time that didn't suit Cori; rather, developing a career had taken center stage in her life.
"I'm not really sure," she lied, tossing back her long brown hair. The phone rang, interrupting their conversation.
"I have to take this, Jack. I'll see you soon."
He gave her a weak smile and left the room.
"Fitzy, this is Hardin on the fifth floor. My secretary can't get this damn copy machine to work. And I've got a sales proposal that has to be out of here tonight. Can you help us out?'
Cori knew that his pleasant tone masked the man's skepticism about her ability to run the office. She had decided last year to lease Dixie's copiers from a new company, which resulted in significant savings. Unfortunately, there had also been significantly more problems with the new machines than with the old ones; she could now dial the service number from memory. Most of the employees were frustrated not only by the unreliability of the copiers, but also by the way they operated.
"When you put a document in the feeder, the stupid machine displays a message that says job accepted," one of them observed. "I didn't know it could pick and choose what it copies. Did these machines join a union?"
"I'll get right on it, Bill," Cori told him.
YOU ARE READING
BAD WINE CRAPPY CHOCOLATE
No FicciónFor Cori Fitzgerald, a young woman living in the year 2045, the future is now. Her co-worker Brandon Cane has taken Cori to a place ripe with political intrigue. The United States has been transformed into the Seven Sovereign Territories. Years of h...