As soon as Manuel opened the door, the chatter of the cube farm hit like heavy surf. It was mind numbing. I didn’t see how the analysts could ignore it. Snippets from a river of conversations on a dozen different subjects, all overlapped in a cacophony of confusion.
We turned the corner to Kourosh’s cube just as he was finishing a call. Somehow, he must have sensed our approach, because as soon as he disconnected the call, he unclipped his headset, spun around in his chair, and stood up with his hand outstretched towards me.
He looked Persian, and I expected heavily Farsi-accented English, but in the most neutral English he said, “Hello, my name is Kourosh. How may I help you”?
I laughed at my ignorance. “How ...