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Leslie filed through her purse for a piece of gum, her hand finding nothing but empty wrappers. She decided she'd have more luck if she stopped walking, so she stopped walking and glared down into the mess where, somewhere, she heard her phone vibrating, still muted from the meeting, now stuttering out from under her wallet, the screen announcing that Isabella was calling. She always called in the afternoon; somehow Isabella never got it though her head that some people actually have to work for a living. Leslie pressed ignore, snatched her keys up from the purse, and surveyed the lot for the car. Meanwhile, in the busier part of the city, her husband, Brian, was sitting in his office, at his desk, the phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder. If he didn't get off this call he was going to be late for lunch, which he hated because the office cafeteria (which actually was quite good and had a decent selection) would have been picked over thoroughly. He didn't understand why this guy on the phone wouldn't stop insisting that the recession somehow merited a break on their standard rates. The recession wasn't even affecting this part of the business. In fact, they had seen higher revenues for three straight quarters. Who did this guy think he was? On his way home, he called Leslie to ask what was for dinner. She asked him to pick something up from Whole Foods. That night as they ate, they exchanged stories. Leslie told Brian about Isabella, let me guess - calling all day? Brian told Leslie about the guy who ruined his lunch break, but Leslie thought the guy had a point. Brian explained how that was ridiculous. The recession wasn't even affecting this part of the business. In fact, they had seen higher revenues for three straight quarters.
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