It’s twenty till seven on a Tuesday. You’re finally sitting down to supper, and your phone buzzes on the counter. You don’t know the number.
You let it go. Everybody does.
On the other end is a woman with water all over her kitchen floor. She hears your voicemail, hangs up, and calls the next name on Google.
He answers. He gets the job. You never even know she called.
That’s the call Mabel is for.


