I pick up the phone. “Hello?” Long pause. I hear a series of beep, boop, boops, but no voice. I figure it’s someone butt dialing me, so I hang up and don’t give it any further thought. If it’s important, they’ll call back.
But this time he did call back right away. I heard an oily male voice whisper, “I want to f*** you.”
One thing you need to know about me is that I’m not very quick on the uptake. Rapid fire retorts tend to elude me. So I said, “Uh, I think you have the wrong number,” and I hung up.
Believe me, I can think of several snappy comebacks now. Especially since I got three more beep boop calls from him after that. That’s when it finally hit me. This person has been calling me for over a year. Fortunately it’s always been beep boopy in nature, not slimy comments, so I didn’t make the connection.
So… wow. I was supposed to be feeling harassed and intimidated for a whole year. Sorry dude. It never occurred to me. I’ve been too busy having a life to connect those particular dots.
That means you fall into the same category for me as the Doobie Brothers and knot holes. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d write.
The other day I was listening to a song by the Doobie Brothers, and the significance of their name suddenly dawned on me. Doobie as in pot. I guess I’d been walking around my whole life just sort of vaguely assuming that someone’s last name was Doobie. That’s hysterical.
I tend to look at life through a long lens. The thing I’m focused on is sharp and clear. All the other details around me are a bit fuzzy.
Case in point, I’m sitting on the toilet at my sister’s cabin and I’m lost in thought. (Toilets do that to me for some reason.) Suddenly I look up at the wall, which is beautifully polished wood paneling, and I notice the knot holes. I’ve always thought knot holes were kind of cool. But that day, in my late 40’s, I realized that knot holes are where the tree branches grow out of the trunk of the tree. One of those head slap moments when a puzzle piece falls into place. Hello!
I really do pride myself on my intelligence. It’s my focus that needs a little work.
So, he called again. This time he told me my mortgage payment was overdue. Which is very interesting, since I don’t have a mortgage. I could tell by his voice that he’s a pimply-faced adolescent. He also forgot to block his number this time, and it was a Jamaica area code. So not a physical threat. Just a dumb ass little punk.
I have to admit I kind of lost it. “Are you f&%#*@^ KIDDING me? It’s 5 a.m!!!! Get a life!” I’m sure this did nothing but encourage him. Clearly if this is all he has to do on a Saturday, he’s desperate for attention. I’m going to let my machine answer the phone from now on.