Bits & Pieces
No time this week for a good, well stretched out story, so you will have to settle for a last minute, short and (hopefully) sweet snippets of comedic narrations that will (again; hopefully) tickle your collective funny bone. I’d dearly love to add a little more padding to this opening paragraph but to be honest I’m not a good enough writer to drag this sh*t out any longer so without further adieu, and mainly since I have run out of clever, witty ways to embellish this short storey into an epic novel, the next writing junctures is my first short morsel of hilarity.
Back in the days where the latest, greatest technological advancement in communications consisted of answering machines and pagers or beepers or (well, I won’t provide you with the term I was most fond of employing to describe the piece of sh*t my company had ordered me to carry, so for the sake of the young and innocent, I will defer to the euphemism:) emergency communications device. As almost everyone in the western hemisphere and India knew at the time, to contact a person assigned to such a device, you had to first know the particular phone number assigned to the pager; second dial it and third, once the tone or “beep” was heard (thus endowing the evil devices with the nomenclature “Beepers”) you were to enter the telephone number you wished the respondent to call, usually but not always your own. Well, my lovely bride, Sylvia, had an aversion with machines in those days and she found communicating with mechanical equipment especially repugnant. Many people we knew used to call me, almost in tears from laughing, and ask why Sylvia hated machines so much, but they would caution me never to let her know they had called because they loved to listen to the messages she left while verbalizing with their answering machines. So it came as no surprise to anyone in my family when Sylvia said she wanted to call Paul and ask him to stop to pick up something at the store on the way home but knew he would get into trouble if she called his work number. I was busy working at home, which I did a lot in those days, and told her to call his pager number, since he was allowed to call out, but not to receive incoming calls. Everyone in the house over the age of 18 months old broke out in guffaws when they saw my wife pull the phone from her ear and then, holding it like a microphone simply stated… “Paul call home” and hung up.
The really funny part of this short story is that Sylvia did not understand what everyone had found so amusing but did not have time to question us as she answered our ringing phone and told Paul that we needed milk and asked home to stop and pick some up on his way home. Later, out of keen sense of hearing her beautiful ears provided her with, I asked Paul, “How did you ever figure out to call home?” His answer was, “Only a wrong number or Mom would call me on the pager and not leave a phone number, so I took a chance and called home”. Not wanting to appear to be verbose, I will end this mini-saga at this point as I am out of time and hope to use the material I could add in another, future MAAS.
Next week's 11-22-2010 (#168) title: TBD
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