Cranberry Red: A Novel

27. Rules

Ben Wesley was not aware of the fiery e-mail Brittani Stone sent off to Sara Phillips in Oshkosh, in which she asked for a transfer and suggested she could not work with Ben Wesley one more day. “The guy doesn’t pay any attention to the rules, and besides he treats me like I’m his secretary. I came to this godforsaken outpost of civilization to manage this office, not to babysit an incompetent.” And of course Ben did not see the reply Brittani got back saying, “Relax, Brittani, take a deep breath and let this pass. Remember, Ben Wesley has lots to learn about our operation. You know Osborne University well. Don’t forget we put you in our new Willow River office because we wanted someone who could make it work. We have confidence in you.” “There’s a note on your desk, Ben. We need to talk about it,” Brittani said when Ben arrived at the office the next day. “A fellow dropped it off late yesterday.” Ben saw the handwritten page on his desk. It read: Ben, Trust the new job is going well. Glad you’re still working. We cranberry growers need you and have appreciated your work in the past. I suspect you know that Wisconsin will soon celebrate 150 years of commercial cranberry growing in the state. We are 110 Rules 27 111 Rules organizing a special Sesquicentennial Celebration for next year and would like you to chair the committee. Our first meeting is scheduled for next week. Give me a call and I’ll give you more details. Jeff Johnson “You had a question about this note?” Ben asked as he walked into the outer office where Brittani was working at her computer. “I think you’d better call Dr. Phillips before you agree to chair this committee,” she said. “Why?” Ben was a bit perplexed by her question. “This sort of activity comes under the category of public service work.” “Public service work?” “Work that you are not paid for.” “Oh,” Ben responded. “We have rules about how much public service work our employees can do,” Brittani said, holding Osborne’s employee manual up for Ben to see. He didn’t admit it to Brittani, but he hadn’t cracked the cover of this thick, three-ring binder apparently chock full of rules and procedures. “A maximum number of hours per quarter of public service time is allowed, as you will note on pages 246 to 255 of the employee manual. You’d better call Dr. Phillips and discuss this request with her.” “Why would she care?” Ben said. “She cares,” Brittani assured him rather sarcastically, as she turned back to her computer. Ben was scratching his head as he returned to his office and looked up Dr. Sara Phillips’s number in his Rolodex. Brittani suggested he keep his phone directory on his computer, but he had never quite figured out how to do that. As he looked for her number he thought about his previous job as a county agricultural agent working for the University of Wisconsin. The university had rules, and lots of them, but it let its employees make decisions about who they worked with and when. He would not have needed to ask permission to chair a festival committee for cranberries, in fact he would have been applauded for doing it. One side of Ben thought, To hell with what Brittani says, she’s beginning to get on my nerves, and besides, one of these days I’ve got to let her know who is boss around here. The way she’s been acting lately, you’d think she was in charge. But the practical side of Ben prevailed and he decided not to rock the boat anymore than it was already rocking. Ben had not forgotten the fuss Brittani had made over billing the Evans family. He punched in Sara Phillips’s phone number and soon heard, “This is Dr. Phillips; how can I help you?” “This is Ben Wesley over in Willow River.” “Ben, how are you? Good to hear your voice. How are things going?” “Okay, I guess. Lots of work.” “Glad to hear it. I’m pleased people are finding our outreach office and asking for your services.” “I’ve got a question for you.” “Question away.” Sara Phillips seemed especially friendly...