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\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s compadre, Debbie. I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t tossed it because on the other side was a note from Roland with the name of his ship\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s commander.<\/p>\n
As I put it back down on a pile of desk clutter, Matt, Joe and Robbie walked in the side door looking for lunch. <\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hey, Matt, whose number is 264-3215?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How should I know?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a local number?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153So what?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
Later on, Joe meandered into the office.<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hi, Mr. Miller.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Joe, whose number is 264-3215?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
He shrugged his shoulders.<\/p>\n
Last night, after dinner, I again asked Matt whose number it was.<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why do you keep asking me that? How should I know?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he grumbled, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll call it if you want.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a fine idea. Do that.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I felt the hook set in the fleshy part of his cheek.<\/p>\n
He thought for a moment and began to waffle. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a house number, not a cell phone. If it were a cell phone you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have less chance of getting someone.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
I thought to myself if it were a cell phone number you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d know whose it was.<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ask for Ann or someone and see if you can tell by the voice who it is.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
He flipped open his phone, dialed the number and asked, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Is Sara there?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
I could tell by his pronunciation it was Sara without the \u00e2\u20ac\u0153h.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
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\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mom.<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yeah, I mean, Debbie.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He fumbled<\/p>\n
That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s right, now I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m doubled over.<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hi Debbie. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s me, and my father is an Asshole.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
I could tell by the way he said it, it was asshole with a capital \u00e2\u20ac\u0153A.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 … Continue reading