she opened the door, remembering the last line of the reply:
Wasn’t this issue completely resolved by Grady Sinclair?
“How do they know about that? Why do they care?” she pondered quietly as she pulled the door completely open. “If this person thinks my email was stupid, what does it matter whether Grady helped the town or not?”
Pushing aside the fact that someone had tried to make her feel ridiculous and small, she wanted to make sense of the last comment in the email. Did this person really expect her to verify the question?
Taking a deep breath, she did her best to ignore her negative thoughts and to reason without anger. She really shouldn’t answer the email. Emily was her friend, so she should tell her about the rude employee. Randi had actually come to like and respect Emily’s new husband. But something in her gut wouldn’t and couldn’t leave the situation as it stood. She wasn’t about to go running to Grady just because she could now call him a friend. The email address had been weird, a free service that was unlikely to be traceable. If she was the victim of a bad joke, or an unhappy person, she’d fire back. Some idiot in an office somewhere wasn’t going to insult her and her beloved town without some kind of answer.
The Center was quiet as she exited the front doors. Very little was happening tonight, except for the few men still left in the building working on improvements. Randi shivered as the bitter-cold wind did a full-frontal assault, reminding her that she hadn’t bothered to zip her jacket. Tugging the ends of the material together, she sprinted for her vehicle, smirking evilly as she decided on just how to reply to her churlish prankster. She was a teacher, a woman with an education. If there was one thing she was good at, it was finding mistakes and stating facts.
So, that’s exactly what she did the very next day.
Two Days Later . . .
Evan wasn’t sure why he even bothered to check his bogus email address. It wasn’t like he had nothing better to do. He was in his downtown offices, and he had an important meeting in less than fifteen minutes. Checking his notes and making sure he had all of the documents he needed should be his priority at the moment. Nevertheless, he was drumming his fingers on the oak desk in front of him, waiting for the free email page to appear. It came up after a wait he considered way too long, even for a free service, and he logged in impatiently.
This is a waste of time. I have work to do. Why do I even care if some presumptuous person in Amesport answered my email?
He knew for a fact that Grady had more than rescued the Center and the town of Amesport. Evan didn’t need an answer. Still, he wondered if there was an answer to his question, and if the sender of the email had felt appropriately sorry they had sent a letter to a worthwhile charity for help with such a small issue.
Frowning as the annoyingly slow mailbox appeared, he noticed that he did indeed have mail. Clicking the mouse efficiently, he deleted the junk that was a prerequisite to signing up for the free service. He hesitated uncharacteristically as he saw that there actually was a response from the same generic email that he’d written to a few days earlier. A haughty, dark brow rose as he saw the subject line:
Proof that Amesport is On the Map!!
Intrigued, he clicked on the response.
Dear Unsympathetic:
Had I known that all of the Sinclair Fund employees were as heartless and arrogant as you appear to be, I would have definitely written to Santa Claus instead. In the future, I’ll direct all urgent email to the North Pole.
You’re also uninformed. Amesport certainly is on the map and is a popular tourist destination in the summer. The town appears quite clearly. Please see the attached.
P.S. Grady Sinclair is a wonderful man with a heart, and the issues with the Center are completely resolved. Luckily, there is someone affiliated with the Sinclairs
Wasn’t this issue completely resolved by Grady Sinclair?
“How do they know about that? Why do they care?” she pondered quietly as she pulled the door completely open. “If this person thinks my email was stupid, what does it matter whether Grady helped the town or not?”
Pushing aside the fact that someone had tried to make her feel ridiculous and small, she wanted to make sense of the last comment in the email. Did this person really expect her to verify the question?
Taking a deep breath, she did her best to ignore her negative thoughts and to reason without anger. She really shouldn’t answer the email. Emily was her friend, so she should tell her about the rude employee. Randi had actually come to like and respect Emily’s new husband. But something in her gut wouldn’t and couldn’t leave the situation as it stood. She wasn’t about to go running to Grady just because she could now call him a friend. The email address had been weird, a free service that was unlikely to be traceable. If she was the victim of a bad joke, or an unhappy person, she’d fire back. Some idiot in an office somewhere wasn’t going to insult her and her beloved town without some kind of answer.
The Center was quiet as she exited the front doors. Very little was happening tonight, except for the few men still left in the building working on improvements. Randi shivered as the bitter-cold wind did a full-frontal assault, reminding her that she hadn’t bothered to zip her jacket. Tugging the ends of the material together, she sprinted for her vehicle, smirking evilly as she decided on just how to reply to her churlish prankster. She was a teacher, a woman with an education. If there was one thing she was good at, it was finding mistakes and stating facts.
So, that’s exactly what she did the very next day.
Two Days Later . . .
Evan wasn’t sure why he even bothered to check his bogus email address. It wasn’t like he had nothing better to do. He was in his downtown offices, and he had an important meeting in less than fifteen minutes. Checking his notes and making sure he had all of the documents he needed should be his priority at the moment. Nevertheless, he was drumming his fingers on the oak desk in front of him, waiting for the free email page to appear. It came up after a wait he considered way too long, even for a free service, and he logged in impatiently.
This is a waste of time. I have work to do. Why do I even care if some presumptuous person in Amesport answered my email?
He knew for a fact that Grady had more than rescued the Center and the town of Amesport. Evan didn’t need an answer. Still, he wondered if there was an answer to his question, and if the sender of the email had felt appropriately sorry they had sent a letter to a worthwhile charity for help with such a small issue.
Frowning as the annoyingly slow mailbox appeared, he noticed that he did indeed have mail. Clicking the mouse efficiently, he deleted the junk that was a prerequisite to signing up for the free service. He hesitated uncharacteristically as he saw that there actually was a response from the same generic email that he’d written to a few days earlier. A haughty, dark brow rose as he saw the subject line:
Proof that Amesport is On the Map!!
Intrigued, he clicked on the response.
Dear Unsympathetic:
Had I known that all of the Sinclair Fund employees were as heartless and arrogant as you appear to be, I would have definitely written to Santa Claus instead. In the future, I’ll direct all urgent email to the North Pole.
You’re also uninformed. Amesport certainly is on the map and is a popular tourist destination in the summer. The town appears quite clearly. Please see the attached.
P.S. Grady Sinclair is a wonderful man with a heart, and the issues with the Center are completely resolved. Luckily, there is someone affiliated with the Sinclairs
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