Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Cell Hell

Instant communication has its benefits, but I still think I was the very last hold out to get a personal cell phone. I do not like them yet. I went the better part of four decades not being readily accessible, and not once did anyone die as a result of this. They’ve become life support systems for some people who cannot stray far from their cell phones. That’s a conversation for another day, however, as this one must take place now.
For you married folk, or for those of you who have managed to have some sort of emotional attachment to one person over a length of time, I bid you to consider the following scenario; your person of interest is in a work truck at work, with a co-worker in that truck, and the discussion being had is work related. If you happened upon this scene, it would be rude for your person of interest not to stop and speak to you, and acknowledge your existence, but would you crawl up in that person’s lap and demand attention?
I was at work today, in my work truck, and with a co-worker and we were trying to tie up a few loose ends before a project starts whenever the hell it warms up. His wife called and he tells her he’s in Thomasville, and I’m there too, and we’re working. She gets mad because she works in Thomasville, and he didn’t call her to tell her he was there. Now, ordinarily I would get out of the truck when this sort of conversation begins, but it’s below freezing outside the truck. Honestly, I think the temperature inside the truck was beginning to drop a bit too. Outside, and I was staring out the driver’s side window as to give my poor co-employee all the privacy I could, and to avoid making eye contact with him, I noticed a large woman walking two Chihuahuas. She was more or less dragging the poor rodent canines against the wind, and it looked more like someone trying to walk miniature naked tumbleweeds.
Here’s where it got weird. This was his side of the conversation, not three feet from me:
“No, baby, no, I do love you, I do, it’s just that we’re working, no, I don’t mind if people see you with me, no, we’re not near there, we’re (long pause) yes, yes, yes but…”

At this point my fellow employee gets out of the truck and instantly realizes this is a horrible mistake. The woman dragging the rat dog accidently breaks one of them into rodent flavored ice cubes. Birds drop out of the sky it’s so cold. I check the clock. I give him five minutes, but he’s back in within three, and at this point, he’s mumbling to her, kinda softly, like he’s trying to baby talk her without me, three feet away from hearing him.

“We’ll go out when I get home, baby, we’ll go get some pizza, no, we don’t have to go get pizza if you’re still on that diet…”

I wince. Never say that word if you’re doing damage control with a chick.

“…no baby I didn’t call you fat…”

“He thinks you’re a whale!” I think about yelling this out, but I do realize this guy might kill me so no, I don’t.
“…I love you just the way you are. Okay, okay, okay baby, I’ll call you later.”

He looks at me and sighs.

“In the name of god man, call her back, right now, you forgot to tell her you love her!” I scream this advice and he realizes at the last moment I’m right, and he fumbles for the phone. Too late. The phone rings.

“I love you baby.” He blurts out, far too loud, and I suppress a snicker. Were there really a god who loved writers this would be the boss, or some male friend, but there is no god who loves writers, and it’s his wife again. The torment goes on now for another lifetime, and in that time, the walking woman breaks the other Chihuahua and drags both frozen corpsified rat dogs back into a house. More mumbles. More babytalk. More torment for the both of us.

Okay, women of the world, is this sort of thing truly necessary? Does he really have to tell you he loves you at the end of each and every conversation? Is it a sign of infidelity to the spirit of the relationship ( this is her words, not mine) if he doesn’t call her as soon as he gets into the same town with her, even if he’s working? Aren’t there times you really would have him focused on something other than how much he loves you and worships you?

Is there a reason I’ve been single all but 989 days of my life?
Take Care,
Mike

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