Junkyard Junkies

“No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t have it,” you said into the phone. “Yes, I’m sure.” You tapped your finger on the counter, waiting impatiently for the irritated customer on the other end of the line to stop asking you stupid questions. It was really frustrating how people treated you like you didn’t know what you were talking about just because you were a woman. As Mr. Wilson continued talking, you turned around, leaned against the counter and stared at the wall. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your irritation grew. You were sure you were going to be trapped on the phone with him all day, until you heard the bell over the door jingle. It was the best sound you’d ever heard.