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On the other end of the line at the cable company was Hattie. Hattie was sixty-four years old and living and working in the basement of her son, Stan’s, McMansion, in a fancy neighborhood of Aberdeen, South Dakota. She was allowed to use the washing machine on Tuesdays between four and six, but Hattie had the highest customer satisfaction score in the call center partly because she knew what cable was. This morning, however, Hattie had put her phone on hold since the bottom of her shirt had gotten stuck in the shredder Stan used for his off-shore account statements.


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