Maybe you're accustomed to calling a government office and being greeted with a fancy oganizational name.  I'm not.  Ours isn't that kind of an office and we have name.  At least we hadn't the last time I called Washington, less than a month ago.

Obviously, I'd just learned what Mac had wanted me to learn, or part of it.  There had been some kind of a shake-up, the gobbledygook boys and girls had taken over and we were now something called the Federal Information Center, or a branch thereof.  Well, such things happen, in Washington.  To learn the full extent of the disaster, I drew a long breath and called the same number again.  I got a different girl, but she'd learned her lilt at the same school.

"Federal Information Center."

I decided to try the head-on approach and see what happened.  "Give me Mac," I said.

"Mac?  I'm sorry, sir, without the full name I don't think I can...  Oh, yes, of course!  You want the Bureau of Public Safety.  I'll connect you."

I waited.  Presently another woman's voice came on the line.  This was a severe, businesslike, hitless voice.  "Bureau of Public Safety, Miss Dodds.  With whom did you wish to speak, please?"

I didn't know any Miss Dodds. "Gimme Mac," I said crudely, since that seemed to be the password.

"Who's calling, please?"

"Somebody who wants Mac," I said.

"Really, sir -"  She broke off.  There was a brief pause; and her voice came again.  "I'm sorry, sir.  You did say Mac, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Yes, of course.  I'll see if I can reach him on the temporary line.  His office is still in the old building for the time being, and we haven't been able to make very satisfactory arrangements.  You know what telephone service is these days.  Please hold."

Normally, calling the office in the old building on a side street where nobody'd expect a government office to be, I'd have got a girl who simply said hello, unless there was a special message for a particular agent who was expected to have to call from a bugged phone or a roomful of people.  In that case the girl might tell me I'd reached the residence of Mrs. Amos Aardvark, say, or the home of Mr. Zachariah Xerxes.  If the coded message was for me, I'd apologize for dialing the wrong number and hang up.  If it wasn't for me, I'd ignore it, say an identifying word or two, and ask to be put through to Godalmighty, the Big Cheese, the Mother Superior, or whatever other facetious name I chose to employ.  The whole transaction would generally take considerably less than ten seconds.  Obviously, things had changed.

There was a clacking in the phone, and Miss Dodds' prim voice came again.  "Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.  I'm trying to reach him for you.  We've been having some trouble with that connection.  It's temporary, you know."

"So you said," I said.  "Keep plugging.  That's a joke."

"Yes, sir.  Ha-ha...  here we are now.  Go ahead, sir."