Phoney Stuff

Once upon a time, when the phone rang, one knew the call would be of utmost importance. A break-your-leg tripping-over-the-misplaced-stool-but-answer -that- phone-before-it-stops-ringing type of importance. No one called just to chitchat.
Using a phone in a small town was a community affair. Everyone on the party-line listened in, just in case they could help, you know, with whatever emergency caused the call.
Back then, there were local operators and, by and large, they were most helpful. "Are you trying to reach Jackie S? Or the Mister? . . . Jackie, eh? . . .Well, you've missed her by 10 minutes. She had to go to the dentist. Won't be back 'til around 3pm. But, I don't spoze she'll feel like talkin' much then. Going to have a molar pulled."
Back then, a collect call meant someone was dying. Or gravely injured. One always accepted a collect call. Or lived with the forever-after guilt of rejecting a loved one in time of need.
Last night, while the history-making State of the Union speech was in progress ( I was hanging on every word . . . ), the phone rang. Loath to lose even one word of this momentous occasion, the thought crossed my mind to let the answering machine take the call. Still, the pre-conditioning of the aforementioned Telephone Protocol, caused me to pick up the receiver.
A metallic sound voiced the question: Will You Accept a Collect Call From Lynn?
Had my attention not been otherwise distracted I might have quizzed the metalloidurgist a bit, but as it was, I was missing out on crucial news. "No," I mumbled almost inaudibly and quickly dropped the phone back onto its cradle before my conscience could take hold and cause me to change my mind.
Darn it! I sure do wish we still had personalized phone service like in the old days. If we did, I could have called the operator back and asked her if "Lynn" was some family member of mine that I've accidently forgotten.
But heck, with my luck, the operator would have been watching the State of the Union, too, and I'd have gotten her answering machine!
Phoney Stuff © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan