Ring. . . ring . . . ring.
SHG: Hello.
Caller: Car service?
SHG: You have the wrong number.
Caller: What number is this?
SHG: It doesn’t matter. It’s the wrong number.
Caller: Listen, I need a car now, it’s really important. (epithets omitted)
SHG: That may be, but it’s not a car service.
Caller: I’m not screwing with you. I need a car now. (epithets omitted again)
SHG: Oh, you want car service?
Caller: Yeah.
SHG: Okay, where you at?
Caller: 168 and St. Nick.
SHG: Ten minutes.
Caller: Cool . . . (click)
I don’t know what comes over me.
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And if he calls you back, because he has your number, may I suggest a long lunch?
Until October.
Several decades ago, we had a home phone that was one digit away from a country club. From time to time, I’d take dinner reservations.
You are such a chicken.
Chicken indeed. When they call back, you just say,
“Oh you said One Sixty Eight. Sorry, we’ll be right there.”
Rinse and repeat.
I could do it all day long.
You and I are on the same level of immaturity, sir 🙂
And I am honored to be in such good company.
The phone number at my parents’ house was very close to that of the local movie theater. I remember sitting in the living room, reading, as the phone rung and my Dad picked it up. After a brief delay, he said “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”, and hung up.
On Splogging
[W]e abide by the principle which dictates that somebody will always position himself or herself to systematically harvest anything of value in this world for the sake of money, power and/or ego-fulfillment. We aim to be that somebody….