Ever I Will Sing
The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are everlasting arms.
- Deuteronomy 33:27
- Deuteronomy 33:27
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Sunday, July 5, 2009
If I had a nickel for every thought of you
Because I think it's a really cute story, and for the benefit of everyone who isn't in MGS and was not made to do English E-learning assignments, read on! (Btw, Robert Fulghum's a renown and quite an acclaimed author, apparently. It's okay. I didn't know either.)Adapted from: Robert Fulghum's Journal June 01, 2009 Written on Sunday afternoon, May 31, in Seattle, Washington HELLO? Ring, ring, ring . . . . Calling my friend, Gerard. Going to dinner at his house. “Yes?” Soft voice of older woman. Maybe another dinner guest? “Hey, it’s Fulghum. I’m bringing cigars and wine - anything else?” “That’s nice, but Gerard is not here . . .” “Who is this? Where’s Gerard?” “It’s not Gerard - he’s not here - you have the wrong number.” “What number is this?” She laughs. “It’s not Gerard’s number. Gerard is not here.” She hangs up. Now the loony lobe of my brain takes over - that place in my head where, if examined by experts, would result in a diagnosis of ASS - Accumulated Stupidity Syndrome. Miss-dialing is one of its specialties. So. I call the same number again. Why? Because there surely must be a glitch at the phone company or somebody at Gerard’s house is pulling my leg or maybe it’s Gerard himself disguising his voice. It cannot be that my wiring is crossed again and I’ve simply dialed the wrong number. No way. Not a possibility. Ring, ring, ring . . . . “Yes?” Same woman’s voice. “Gerard?” “No, Gerard is still not here.” “Who are you? What’s going on?” “I’m not Gerard. You’ve dialed the wrong number again.” “Is this 999-9999?” “Yes, but it’s not Gerard’s number.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, of course I’m sure. You’ve miss-dialed.” “Who are you?” She laughs. “Not Gerard - that’s all you need to know.” She hangs up. (Now, just in case you are also afflicted with ASS -The number 999-999 is not a real number, only a literary device used here to protect the lady and Gerard. But go ahead, join the nut squad - try it. I did.) And so. I dial the number again. Ring, ring, ring. “Yes?” Same woman’s voice. “Look, I really hate to bother you, but I’m sure this is Gerard’s number.” The woman begins to laugh. “Listen,” she says, “Do you have Gerard’s number written down somewhere?” “Yes, of course I do.” “Look it up and read it to me.” “OK . . . It’s 999-9998 . . .Oh . . . well then . . . sorry.” “No problem,” she says, “I wrote it down, and here’s what I’ll do: If you’ll promise not to call me again - I’ll call Gerard and have him call you, OK?” “Works for me.” “By the way,” she asks, “Does Gerard know your number?” “Yes, of course.” “Good. By the way, did you say your name was Fulghum?” “Yes.” “Are you Robert Fulghum, the author?” (long pause) “No. He doesn’t live here anymore.” She laughs and hangs up. Ring. Ring. Ring. It’s my phone. “Hello, this is Robert Fulghum.” “I thought so.” Nice lady’s soft voice again. She laughs. Hangs up. (Duh. She has caller I.D.) Maybe I’ll call her again sometime. When another part of my brain is working. Even better, I’ll have Gerard call her. I know her number. ---- I'd be a billionaire by now. / 12:04 PM · |