Summary:

“Hello Shane. This is Ilya again, calling about your solar panel quote. Call me back when you are able, the number is—”

Shane pokes the delete button so hard he worries about his phone screen. Every day, this fucking company calls him. Sometimes it’s Elaine or Cyrus, but Shane finds it the most irritating when it’s Ilya. Something about his attitude in his definitely-not-attractive-and-distracting Russian accent makes him sound smug, like he knows he’ll get the sale.

He will never get the sale.

Shane Hollander is never getting solar panels installed. Someone should probably tell Ilya, the solar panel salesman.