Skip to main content

Adventures in Un-stored Phone Numbers, Episode 1

I have mentioned before that I have a really hard time taking care of small, delicate things. I have a propensity to drop them, and in my younger, more alcohol-infused days I had a propensity to throw them at anyone who irritated the hell out of me. Or anyone that was sitting where I wanted to sit. Or wearing a similar outfit to mine. But mostly, I just tend to epically drop things (epically = at least two stories of free fall, preferably onto hardwood or concrete)

Because I annihilate cell phones so often I have become accustomed to answering un-stored numbers, because *most* of the time it's a friend. Every now and then I get a gorgeous gem of dysfunctional dialogue that is worth sharing. I present to you Episode 1 of "Adventures in Un-stored Phone Numbers"

All sentences in italics represent my internal monologue and should be read as such. Even this one.

Episode 1, "Lisa unintentionally oversteps her bounds"

INT. ANGELA'S APT - EARLY AFTERNOON. I am sitting at my writing desk. I have been working on a piece about the passing of my dog and have not spoken to another human being in at least 12 hours. I am desperate for a break from my self-imposed isolation and just as I decide to pack up my computer and head to a bar to write, my cell phone rings.

Thank you, Universe! I see the unfamiliar number and click "answer" but do not have a chance to say hello before a woman with a very thick southern drawl says...

WOMAN:
You didn't do nothin' wrong.

ME:
Excuse me?

WOMAN:
I'd just rather you not get into the middle of this.

ME:
I'm sorry, who is this?

WOMAN:
Lisa, really, it's just gonna be best for all of us if you just stay out of it. (BEAT) Wait, did I dial the wrong number?

ME: I'm betting so, but please, go on. I wanna know what Lisa did.

WOMAN:
Well Hell's Belle's! *click*

ME:
Hello?

Who the fuck says "Hell's Belle's"? I thought that was only in terrible movies about the South. Oh, and probably Gone with the Wind. I should really watch that. I wonder if she'd answer if I called back...
Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
Hells Bells is also a kick-ass AC/DC song. Perhaps that's redundant.
May 16, 2012 at 11:41 PM
Angela J said…
Interesting! I assumed it was Belle's as in women, from hell. Not actual bells. I think that says more about me than anything else.
May 17, 2012 at 4:54 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to avoid hand cramps when you're in the 3rd grade

A t the beginning of the third grade my mother moved my brother and I to a new school. She did this often. With each move I attempted to blend in and fade away with the other children; but with a younger brother whose rebellious reputation was known in the tri-county area and a mentally ill mother this never seemed to happen. Each time I would gradually become known as the good student with the crazy mother and hellion brother. This meant I was never invited to sit with people at lunch, or play at recess. At our young stage of development we didn’t understand that mental illness was not something you caught; that my raving mother’s appearance outside of homeroom would not infect our teacher, or my classmates. I was blacklisted. Determined for this move to be different I decided to reinvent myself, to remove as much of my family as I possibly could. When I walked into my first class at this new elementary school and the teacher called out my name, “Elizabeth Johnson” I replied, “Act...
Post a Comment
Read more

Subject: Mini Kiss just ate the last bagel

In 2005 I was living the high (mediocre) life in the city of Angels, L.A. working in this business we (they, or someone) called show. I wasn't just working in television, I was working in live television. And as if that wasn't enough of a chaotic setting for a great story for you, I also happened to be working for the first (yes, FIRST EVER) GLBTQ television network, appropriately called: Q Television Network with absolutely no experience. The details of how I found myself living in LA as a fresh college senior dropout from the tiny little hipster hotspot of Denton, TX will come later; because rest assured, I had no lifelong desire to work in production. I was a poetry major after all. On this particular sunny day I'm sitting in my office, with my staff (yes, at 23 I had a STAFF! Small, but still...) when I receive an email on my Sidekick. The sender was Jon, a new friend I'd made who worked in acquisitions. The subject was: Mini Kiss just ate the last bagel. The b...
1 comment
Read more

Morning pick me up

So it's Tuesday at 6:14 a.m. I am a rockstar. I am jogging with my dog, plowing through my novel's plot points in my head and feeling fan-bloody-tastic. And thennnn..... my alarm goes off. I snooze for the next hour while my pudgy dog snores next to me. After the 6th snooze button, I hoist myself off of the bed and down the hall to clean all the only-in-my-dreams exercise sweat off. As the foamy white toothpaste drips down my chin I think of old people. Old people eating breakfast. I don't usually eat breakfast. Will I ever be old if I don't like breakfast? Are there old people that don't eat breakfast? Surely not. Bruce (my faithful corgi mix) flops his body down with a fleshy thud at my feet. The rush of air from his flop blew the thoughts of old people and breakfast from my head and I leave them suspended in the bathroom near the stacks of washcloths. I grab Bruce's leash and let him lead the way around the neighborhood. As I'm passing the Hillary '08...
Post a Comment
Read more