Department Of How To Talk To An Obscene Phone Caller
Dateline: Monday eve, post dinner. Feeling nostalgic (or just too lazy to flip channels), MH and I tune in to the end of Wheel of Fortune, just in time to see the winner getting to choose the category from which her “bonus” puzzle will be chosen (categories may include Things; What are you doing?; Food and Drink; Places; People….). The night’s winner chooses the category, What are you wearing?
That’s weird, MH muses aloud. That category could be interpreted as a question from an obscene phone caller.
Moiself was beyond gratitude for MH’s observation, because it brought back a memory I hadn’t thought of in years.
“Pat, I’d like to buy a vowel….”
Arguably the only obscene phone call [1] I ever received [2] happened a long time ago in a galaxy far far away…specifically, one Friday afternoon between 2-3 pm, at the private OB/GYN practice where I worked.
Background info (which figures into the story, trust me):
* The practice belonged to a doctor (“Dr. B” [3] ) and nurse practitioner (“NP”), who on Fridays saw patients until noon or 1pm and took the rest of the afternoon off. The practice remained open until 5pm for staff to return and make phone calls, notify patients of test results, ready the office for the next week’s patients, etc.
* The practice had two telephone numbers – one which was listed/public (for patients, pharmacists, hospitals, other doctors…) and an “inside line” which was private, its number known and used by staff only. If the private line rang on a Friday afternoon it was typically a call from Dr. B, more rarely NP, asking for clarification of something from a patient’s chart, or would I please check to see if he’d left ____ at the office, or call in a prescription for Ms. ____ or reschedule the Tuesday morning surgery of Ms. ____ …..
* I had a very warm, congenial, and joking relationship with Dr. B and NP. [4]
That particular Friday had been very busy – the morning slipped into the afternoon before I’d even had a chance to look at the clock and realize that the last patient had left over an hour ago and I hadn’t taken a lunch break. I hadn’t seen Dr. B or NP in a couple of hours and figured they must have left while I was readying the ultrasound room for the amniocentesis which was scheduled first thing Monday morning, or perhaps when I was helping the pharmaceutical rep who’d stopped by to restock our samples shelves. Dr. B and NP never left without saying goodbye, so when the inside phone line rang I picked it up, figuring it was Dr. B calling to wish me a good weekend. The male on the line spoke in the voice Dr. B sometimes assumed – a muffled, drawn-out, dopey tone – when Dr. B was imitating a drunken doctor, or asking me to repeat information he found to be implausible or just plain silly.
Unidentified Male: Hellllooooo?
Moiself: Well, howdy! Where’d you get off to?
Unidentified Male: Hellllooooo… (and something else I couldn’t quite hear).
Moiself: Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?
Unidentified Male: What are you wearing?
Moiself: Oh, you know me – just the usual golfing attire.
Unidentified Male: (heavy breathing, moaning and panting ensues…)
At that moment I espied a most quizzical-looking Dr. B standing in front of me across the desk counter, one eyebrow raised in a Mr. Spock-like fashion. According to the office manager I stomped my foot and gave the telephone receiver quite the double take when I realized it was not Dr B on the other end of the line. I slammed down the receiver and ran to the nearby patient’s bathroom, where I washed my hands while alternately laughing and shrieking EEEEEWWWWWWW – I feel dirty! as I told Dr. B and the office manager about the phone call.
Neither the office manager nor Dr. B ever let me forget the incident. When for whatever reasons the office manager wanted to cut me down to size [5] she’d find an excuse to say to a patient, “Robyn enjoys talking to obscene phone callers.” As for the good Dr. B, every now and then and seemingly apropos of nothing he would look at me and say, “just the usual golfing attire?”
If this don’t stiffen your putter I don’t know what will.
* * *
Department Of Conundrum Of The Ages
Dateline: Saturday, August 17.
Facebook: Let ____ know you are thinking of her on her birthday today!
Moiself: But, I’m not!
But wait – technically I am because of the Facebook notice; that is, I’m thinking about the fact that I’m not thinking about it, which of course means that even for a moment I am thinking about it….
* * *
Department of Epicurean Excursion [6]
Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:
Heart of the Plate: Vegetarian Recipes For a New Generation, by Molly Katzen
Recipes:
* Grilled Ratatouille Salad
* Lime-Drenched Sweet Corn and Peppers
My ratings:
For Grilled Ratatouille Salad:
For Lime-Drenched Sweet Corn and Peppers:
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
Recipe Rating Refresher [7]
* * *
Department Of Without Eternal Vigilance
It Could Happen In Your Neighborhood
A friend turned that age this week [8] Which got me to wonder if there have been any Beatles fans who are so dangerously obsessive devoted that they insisted their grandchildren be named Vera, Chuck, and Dave?
* * *
May you not be plagued with “When I’m 64” videos
when you have that auspicious birthday;
May you remember, when you turn 64 and friends play “When I’m 64” for you,
to react as if you had NO IDEA that might happen;
May friends and loved ones remember your birthday sans social media prompts;
…and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
* * *
[1] Obscene Telephone Call – is that even a thing anymore? For y’all who are too young to remember, an obscene phone call is a telephone call made to an unknown and/or unsuspecting victim, wherein the caller uses deception to gradually or suddenly pose questions about or make statements using explicit sexual imagery/suggestions and/or obscene language. The caller’s aim is to get the unsuspecting respondent to listen to material of an explicitly sexual nature, from which the caller derives sexual satisfaction.
[2] If there were others, I can’t remember them.
[3] Hoist your goblets, you who know what to do (certain friends invented a drinking game where one must take a sip of a [preferably alcoholic] beverage whenever moiself tells a DR. B story.
[4] Who were married to each other…although many of their patients didn’t know this, as they had different surnames.
[5] She sometimes gave off the vibe that she was envious of my collegiate relationship with our employers.
[6] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) one recipe from one book.
* Two Thumbs up: Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up : Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up .
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.
[8] Happy birthday, Erndawg!
