Death and the telephone repairman

We've got a man from the telephone company in the office today. I think he's this far (holds thumb and forefinger the barest millimetre apart) from dying. He's spent the last half hour exerting himself doing strenuous things like opening cabinet doors and fiddling with cords and walking around, all accompanied by huffing and puffing and the most fearful groaning. The first time he did it, Leeanne asked him, "Are you right there?" Amidst the pained grunts and moans, he managed to say that he was. Still, I'll be glad when the phones are fixed and he can go and die and somewhere else.