Mrs. Kurtz, On Hold, fit the sixth.
“Can I have your phone number, m’am, starting with area code?”
“Don’t you hang up on me. Or I will call back and talk to your manager. Scott. I know who you are. No matter how long I have to wait on hold this time. Don’t even think of crossing me, because I’m one–”
“No, m’am. It’s for–”
“And don’t interrupt me. I am one vengeful bitch, and I will have you fired. Do you understand me?”
She wished she could see him: she’d be able to tell that she’d cowed him. Definitely. But he might be flipping her off right now. This was too easy. She tossed her hair out of her eyes and waited.
“May I have your phone number? M’am?”
“How rude. Ask me my name first.”
“May I have your name?” He waited. “Please?”
“A little common curtesy works miracles. My name is Kurtz. Mrs. Emmaline Kurtz.” And as an extra-special treat, she gave him her phone number.