Wherein I call a bluff

Where I work, there is a particular sales rep who is, frankly, a lush and a slut. Not in that endearing way, either. She handles most of the restaurants we deal with, and she doesn't do it especially well. This afternoon, she killed an ad, scheduled to run Friday and print Thursday morning, for Bella Notte. No big deal - means we have some advance notice this time, instead of discovering that she just didn't have the ad when we make final checks around 8:30.

A few minutes before 6, the phone rings. It's some cat from Bella Notte's ad agency, wanting to know if we can get the ad in, because he's finally got it ready. I tell him the space has already been claimed, but we'll do what we can. He first goes for compassion - "We really need to get this in, or we'll get in real trouble with the client." "I'll see what I can do," I respond, with some degree of compassion. Hey, he's gotta deal with Drinky McSkroosalot, I'm willing to try and help out. Apparently, that wasn't enough, because then, he pulls a big gun - or so he thinks. "Look, is there somebody else we can talk to? I mean, we know [publisher's name]."

Well. That sounds vaguely like a threat.

"I know him, too. Work for him. I also have the state Attorney General's home number on my speed-dial, so dropping names won't help you much."

I do not, in fact, have AG Stumbo's number, but Whatshisnuts at Right Place Media didn't know that.