Acute Curtain Call Poisoning

The job was simple. I would call the number I was given and rattle off in one breath, "Is this Mr./Ms. [Name]? This is the Acute Curtain Call Center. I have some information for you." It rarely went well. People were wary of unknown numbers and wouldn't answer, or even if they did, they would just hang up on me, saying, "I don't need it!"

But then, something like this happened.
"Yes, this is [Name]. I'm actually in the middle of something right now. I'm sorry. I'll call you back later."
I was taken aback by the unexpectedly bright and polite tone of the response. But I was startled by the voices I heard in the background. "Chug! Chug!"

"No! Don't drink it!"

I shouted before I could stop myself. That's right. I had broken the rules. The Acute Curtain Call Center's job was to notify customers of the sudden closing of their life's curtain, after all.

The story of the former part-time job of Kyoko Shinigami, who would later become my husband's wife, always ended with a curtain call.

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So, why am I on stage, you ask? It's simply because he always responds so politely to those calls about tax refunds from the city office.

The previous work was too long and not in the SS format, so I'm doing it again.