Zip slumped back in her chair, in her makeshift home office. She hated it when Jack called her Zipora. No one called her that. She was Zip, just Zip. Her one bedroom apartment was on Jacksonville’s south-side, less than three miles from work. Saturday and Sunday were her days off from the Web Technology Services Center or WTSC, as it was generally called. But in emergencies, or any other time Jack Hill, her boss, thought she needed to be there, she went to work. This was her time, time she spent in her own business. This overlap of her day job interfering with her personal business was becoming an habitual infringement. She needed to make a decision—which job should she terminate?
She ran her fingers through her long thick moppy brown hair as she contemplated customer support. All the WTSC business clientele’s servers would have to have their systems cleaned, according to the system restoration team findings fax she had received.
As the Technical Services Manager, she had recommended a fail-safe solution, a documented proposal. She had pleaded with Jack to plan for outsourcing coverage for disaster recovery. Jack refused. “No, damn it. That’s never going to happen,” Jack had said, as he pounded his fist on his desk. Now Jack would have to squirm as this crisis spiraled out of control.
She looked at her watch, 5:00PM. She would have to call her team leads then they would call their techies. She pulled out her phone list and began the tedious task.
“Hello, Tom. This is Zip. I need you and your team in at six on Monday morning. We’ve got an enormous disaster on our hands, all our customers are down. Call me when you get this message.” She shrugged as she dialed the next team lead. Eleven more messages to go.
To be continued ...
Copyright © 2007 by Miss Mary
