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For the last couple of
years, I’ve smelled a rat in my business. He (or she) has wreaked havoc
in delicate areas, causing the loss of considerable sums of money.
The rat’s identity remains unknown.
But Ralph, my general manager, is determined to catch him in the act. And
when he does catch him, there will be no need for prosecution. Ralph vows
to show no mercy.
"I’m going to terminate
him," says Ralph, a crazed look in his eye. "But first I’ll
trap him or poison him or maybe permanently glue his face onto tar
paper."
Oh, did I mention this was a real rat,
not an employee?
This rat has gnawed through solid wood
doors, burrowed holes in cabinets and eaten a good portion of the
chocolate inventory in one of our retail stores.
And now, his appetite has
expanded to include wiring. Specifically, he prefers the taste of phone
lines.
This was noticed when one of the phones
in our 12-unit system went dead.
"Call AT&T," I said to
Ms. Ferguson, my loyal office manager, when she notified me of the
problem. "We have a maintenance contract with them for our
phones."
I said this with considerable pride.
When I bought the system a few years ago it came with a one-year warranty
and the option to purchase an extended maintenance contract. I
declined, choosing to risk paying $1,000 per hour labor charges (or
something like that) if anything ever went wrong.
Naturally, the phone system went down
shortly after the one-year warranty expired. It was a minor problem, but
AT&T chose to send the latest Nobel Prize winner out to fix it, so it
cost a bundle. Then AT&T shook its bureaucratic head and suggested
once again that I buy a maintenance contract so I wouldn’t be faced with
such obscene charges.
So I succumbed. I purchased the
contract and naturally watched month after month go by with nary a
problem. Until the rat.
AT&T was there to solve the problem
the next day. I smugly watched the technician fiddling with the dead
phone, knowing he was working for me gratis because of my wise decision to
purchase the maintenance contract. Take your time, my good man, take all
the time you want. Fix it up just right.
"All done," he said, putting
his tools away far too soon for my taste. "I can’t do much more
without your permission."
"What do you mean?" I cried.
"Isn’t it fixed?"
"There’s nothing wrong with the
phone," he replied. "The problem is in the wiring and you don’t
have wiring coverage in your maintenance contract. That’s extra."
Arrrrgggghhhh.
"How much will it cost?" I
asked weakly.
"Can’t tell for sure. Looks like
a rat has been eating through the wires so they’ll have to be replaced
back to their source. I bill out at $7,000 per hour (or something like
that) and this is going to take some time."
Then he shook his head and
strongly suggested I look into buying AT&T’s maintenance contract
that covers phone wiring. That way I wouldn’t be faced with these
obscene charges.
I nodded, thoroughly defeated,
and told him to go ahead and make the repairs to the wiring. I watched him
without the smugness I had enjoyed only a few free minutes before.
The next morning I walked into the
office to find Ralph feverishly placing a 6-ounce chocolate bar on the
largest mouse/rat trap I’ve ever seen.
"I’m going to get him," he
said, his left eye twitching ever so slightly. "Eating doors and
chocolate is one thing, but when he started messing with the phones, it
means war."
Ralph, who loves phones, was definitely
losing it. It was time to let him in on my plan.
"I know it’s been tough," I
said. "But our problems are over. That rat will be dead by
sundown."
"How?" cried Ralph. "I’ve
tried everything and now he’s surviving on phone line wiring. What could
you possibly do that would make him go away?"
I gave Ralph my best John Wayne look
and then turned to Ms. Ferguson. "Call AT&T," I ordered.
"Tell them we’ll buy that maintenance contract on the wiring."
Ralph crawled over and hugged my ankle.
The rat was as good as dead. We all knew that once we had the contract,
nothing would ever go wrong. |
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