DROP ELEVEN
Hector spent all morning on the phone. He was new in this business, and he didn’t manage to get through to anyone, really. For hours he was kept on hold, the stupid, inane music piercing his skull. Even worse, some owners used chatbots, which were even stupider than a stupid person speaking through a tin can and string.
After a couple of hours of wanting to pull his hair off, he admitted defeat.
“I can’t even get a conversation with these guys, let alone discuss a business deal,” he muttered to himself, holding his head. His desk was a mess of notes and names and phone numbers, both on paper and on the veil. He didn’t know these people, and the ones he did know were not a good indication of what the others were really like.
He admitted that he needed to schmooze a bit more
