Complaints

She dinged the small bell on the counter. She clutched her purse in her small white-gloved hands, a pillbox hat perched on her head.

“Yeah?” a guy turned around to look at her. She pictured a cigarette in his paw or dangling from the corner of his mouth if smoking had been allowed. He scratched his massive belly.

“Complaints?” She glanced around.

“Yeah. What’s your complaint?” He belched into the back of his hand.

“I’d like to file a complaint.” She opened the clasp on her purse and rummage through it in search of a pen.

“Here,” he said holding out an ink pen strapped to an artificial flower. “What’s the complaint about?”

She looked down at the lengthy form on the table and back up at the man. “There is no appreciation department.”

“Naw, we only do complaints here.”

“That’s just it. I’d like to thank someone.” She blinked and smiled. “But there’s no appreciation department, so I’ve come to complain about the lack of appreciation.”

He scratched his balding head. “Okay. Whatever.”

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