Why she wouldn't leave the utility closet
I was called out to a house in Kingfisher on a hot Thursday in July. The woman who answered the door walked me straight to the utility closet before I had my clipboard out. And then she stayed there, in the doorway, for the entire call. She had a notepad. She wrote down every gauge reading. She asked a question every few minutes. She never drifted to the kitchen, never checked her phone, never gave me the room to myself. For about forty minutes, she stood there and watched everything I touched. Early in my career I might have asked her to wait somewhere else. Easier to concentrate. But I've…
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