Dad Rules
Monday mornings I slog through paperwork. I sort sales receipts, I send out Word.doc invoices, and this morning I chucked those endless pieces of paper with numbers and names that no longer apply to anything. One of those odd scraps of paper contained the name and phone number of Matt’s compadre, Debbie. I hadn’t tossed it because on the other side was a note from Roland with the name of his ship’s commander.
As I put it back down on a pile of desk clutter, Matt, Joe and Robbie walked in the side door looking for lunch.
“Hey, Matt, whose number is 264-3215?†I asked
“How should I know?â€
“It’s a local number?â€
“So what?â€
Later on, Joe meandered into the office.
“Hi, Mr. Miller.â€
“Joe, whose number is 264-3215?â€
He shrugged his shoulders.
Last night, after dinner, I again asked Matt whose number it was.
“Why do you keep asking me that? How should I know?†he grumbled, “But I’ll call it if you want.â€
“That’s a fine idea. Do that.†I felt the hook set in the fleshy part of his cheek.
He thought for a moment and began to waffle. “It’s a house number, not a cell phone. If it were a cell phone you’d have less chance of getting someone.â€
I thought to myself if it were a cell phone number you’d know whose it was.
“Ask for Ann or someone and see if you can tell by the voice who it is.â€
He flipped open his phone, dialed the number and asked, “Is Sara there?â€
I could tell by his pronunciation it was Sara without the “h.â€
I could also tell by the look on his face that while he may not have recognized the person who answered the phone, that person sure recognized him. It was Debbie’s mom.
“Yeah, I mean, Debbie.†He fumbled
That’s right, now I’m doubled over.
“Hi Debbie. It’s me, and my father is an Asshole.â€
I could tell by the way he said it, it was asshole with a capital “A.â€
Aah the DMZ minefield that is life with Michael … Is this an allegorical tale about electronic crutches to memory? Or just a report on successful (and, I imgine, legal) torture?
Pardon the nonsequitur, but R.I.P. Rosa, BTW.
Comment by el Kib — October 25, 2005 @ 7:49 am
Next time try http://www.reversephonedirectory.com/
Comment by rakkity — October 25, 2005 @ 12:31 pm
I loved this. Talk about a different era when the girlfriends home phone number rings no bells.
I second that RIP. Rosa Parks will be the subject of dinner conversation tonight. Only one of my 3 kids knew who she was and they need to know her. I felt such a pang when I read of her passing.
Comment by la Rad — October 25, 2005 @ 12:52 pm
In fact, Matt raised the reverse phone directory idea, but fortunately defaulted to the easiest method.
Comment by michael — October 25, 2005 @ 6:12 pm
So, I imagine Debra’s mom has been sent to the website to verify that Matt calling and asking for Sara was due to his dad’s cruel setup. But might she not wonder whether Michael’s funny story is just a complicated cover-up?
Comment by meany — October 25, 2005 @ 9:03 pm
“fortunately defaulted to the easiest method.”
Fortunately for the sake of getting a good story on the blog!
Comment by rakkity — October 26, 2005 @ 9:39 am
wow…. .sounds like some of the stunts you used to pull on me when we were working… i still haven’t lived down the slug incident with my parents
Comment by goose — October 26, 2005 @ 7:09 pm
Oh, DO tell … !!!
Comment by el Kib — October 26, 2005 @ 7:38 pm
Think of how a pitcher snaps the ball thrown back by the catcher. Like a leather mousetrap. Goose and I are about to heft a fir beam from the lawn when I spy a fat, juicy slug stuck on my end. I pluck it off, holler, “Hey, Goose,” and toss. He had no idea what was coming, but, aah, those baseball instincts. The best laugh (on the run) I had all day.
Comment by michael — October 27, 2005 @ 6:40 am
haha that was so funny! My mom thought that was a very good joke too!
Comment by Debbie — November 13, 2005 @ 5:12 pm