The Intelligence Estimate

Actual conversation with a woman on the phone who was trying to buy tickets:

ME- We have row H seats 7 and 8.

HER- Ok, well I'm on your website right now and I...do you have...uh...where can I find...the thing that...shows the ...thing?

ME- (stunned silence over her complete mastery of the English language*) You mean a map?

HER- YEAH, that's it!

*I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong English WAS her first language!

Labels: Anger, Blue Man Group, Lakeview Neighborhood, Phone, Work

Whenever I see two people in consecutive cars talking on their cell phones I think they are talking to each other.

"Hey, what's the traffic like up there?"

Same for people walking down the street. If two people pass me going down the sidewalk who are talking on their cell phone I think, "Well that's just lazy. Just go over there and talk to them."

Labels: Cars, Cell Phones, Communication, Phone

I got a call from a cancer society yesterday asking me to donate money to help families meet their medical expenses.

Actually, let me back up. I didn't receive the call. The people who lived here before me did. People are constantly calling here looking for the Lewis family. This is not a new phenomenon. When Jen and I moved into our apartment in Des Moines we used to get calls for the Baker family. A lot of calls. They lasted for 3 years. Honestly, if you haven't got the Baker's new number after 3 years just take the hint! In a weird way we felt like a part of the Baker family. We were so proud when we heard that little Sarah graduated from Texas A&M. We wanted to call the Bakers and congratulate them but we knew who we'd get if we tried. But I digress....

The cancer society apologized for calling me Mr. Lewis and said they were calling everyone in the state anyway so they'd talk to me too. How considerate. "Our first choice isn't here, but you'll do."

I didn't know if I would donate or not. I'm usually a sucker for this crap. Dangle a dying kid or a displaced veteran in front of my checkbook and money starts disappearing faster than dignity at an open bar.

I have a lot of sympathy for the people working those phones. I work the phones in the box office and I know how hard it is just to deal with the public. For example, I got a call the other day that was particularly challenging. The guy wanted to ask a bunch of questions. No problem, I'm getting paid to answer them. But he wouldn't let me finish an answer before interrupting me to ask another (and often completely unrelated) question. This became more and more frustrating as the call droned on and he started asking me questions he had asked before...and never let me answer fully.

Then came this gem: "How do I get there?" Now, on the surface there is nothing peculiar about this question, but there is a vital piece of information missing.

Where are you coming from?

"Kenosha."

And how are going to be getting here?

"I don't know."

Are you driving?

"We can drive, how do we get there if we drive?"

Well, how will you be getting to the city?

"I don't know, is it easier if we take the train?"

There is an El stop about three blocks from the theater.

"What's that?"

The elevated train system in the city.

"How do we get to that?"

(Isn't this where we came in?) How are you coming into the city?

"The commuter train drops off downtown."

If you're taking the train downtown you'd want to....

"How do you get there from (Interstate Highways) 90/94?"

You'll get off at Addison. Follow the signs for Wrigley Field. You'll go past Wrigley Field...

"How do you spell that?"

Spell what?

"Addison."

A-D-D-I-S-O-N. You take that past Wrigley Field to the corner of Addison and Belmont.

"How do you spell...."

B-E-L-M-O-N-T

Apparently at this point the attempts to choke back my rage were beginning to fail because our wayward Wisconsinite counters with this: "Ok. I'm sorry to make you repeat things and spell stuff but I've had brain surgery and have terminal cancer."

You son of a bitch! That's right, a guy tells me his days on earth are numbered and my first reaction is "quit wasting my time." Did you see what he did there that was pure genius? That cancer thing is gold baby! Now he gets to be a jackass and I can't be mad at him. I'm adding that to the repertoire. "Sorry I'm being an ass, it's a disease."

By the same token, who decides discussing their medical history with a total stranger is a good idea? "Yes, I know I haven't paid my phone bill for three months, but I have here a biopsy report I want to read you about a mole I had removed."

So I decided not to donate to the cancer society. Not strictly because of this jerk from Kenosha...but not NOT because of him either. I can only hope that the Baker's are more generous when they get the call.

Labels: Addison, Anger, Belmont, Cancer, Charity Work, Kenosha, Phone, Theater, Wrigley Field

My wife did not take my name when we got married. She chose the more commonplace Hughes over the more infuriatingly Germanic Gummert. We both agreed that it had done enough emotional and psychological damage in MY life that there was no use knowingly inflicting it on someone who has a choice in the matter.

This has been only an occasional source of frustration for the two of us. Most commonly it is when my grandmother addresses mail to Chris and Jen Gummert or Mr. and Mrs. Gummert or Whats-His-Face and The Other One. But more often than not it is a endlessly amusing to us that people refer to us by the wrong name, especially when they refer to me as Mr. Hughes.

Once Jen fainted at a movie (Jen swears she doesn't think Jennifer Aniston's acting is THAT bad, but apparently her body disagrees!) and we went to the emergency room. She was fine, but the doctor wrote me a note to stay home from work and watch her the next day just to make sure that she didn't pass out again. He wrote the note for "Chris Hughes."

Today I got a phone call from a telemarketer. This is a fairly common occurrence since we've moved and haven't had the time to circulate our new number among our friends. Frankly, I don't know why I even answer if the phone number doesn't show up on caller ID.

"Hello?"

No response. Dead air.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" comes the answer, almost like she didn't expect anyone to answer at all.

"Hi."

"May I speak to Mr. Huge?"

I was certain I didn't hear that right so I asked her to repeat her question.

"May I speak to Mr. Huge?" she asked with the utmost confidence in her pronunciation.

Mr Huge? Really? How did she know my nickname? Clearly those internet ads were working!

"This is Mr. Huge and let me assure that it's not just a clever name. So before you ask any further questions, let me assure you that all the rumors are true...although I suspect that donkey had a weak heart to begin with! I'm not surprised you called. Mr. Huge is a legend. A man among men and a God among ladies. Mr. Huge is a state of mind, a way of life, a journey to the edge of insanity and back again on a pink, pulsating, pleasure raft. Those who see it never recover from the shock. People run away screaming at the mere mention of it. Others choose to just set up camp in the ample shade it provides. In fact a small Guatemalan family has taken up residence near the tip in a smart-looking bungalow. It's THAT big! Suffice it to say I don't buy pants off the rack anymore.'"

Then out loud I said, "There's no one here by that name."

Labels: Comedy, Jen, Marriage, Phone

Editor's note: Over the last few weeks I have been updating the blog VERY sporadically. That was due to many factors. Not the least of which were moving to a new place, traveling back to Des Moines for the Iowa Fringe Festival and not having an internet connection at home for a week or two. What follows are the highlights from my somewhat self-imposed "vacation."
*****
I am back from the online wilderness. AT&T finally came through for us. We now have a DSL connection at home, and a full three weeks before Comcast would have. Gawd I missed the infoweb. It was hard for me to pack the computer when we moved, like pulling the plug on a loved one. But without the inheritance.
*****
Today is the first day in a week that it has been under 100 degrees Fahrenheit. I hate it. I've been drinking and drinking and drinking all week and I think I've gone to the bathroom twice. I'm really looking forward to it...I'm not sure what that says about me as a person, but I'm certain it ain't good.
*****
Jen and I are slowly adjusting to our new place. We moved from a studio into a three bedroom apartment. I've actually been lost in our new place a few times. It's nothing a trail of bread crumbs won't fix. It's actually a nice problem to have. In our old place the only room with a door on it was the bathroom. By the end of our time there I was taking four showers a day just for the privacy. I think I washed off my fingerprints.
*****
Things I learned at the Iowa Fringe Festival (in no particular order):
-If you don't give the audience scenery you should at least give them free cookies
-Anyone dressed like an animal in public should be treated like one, no questions asked
-These guys can really put on a great show, with or without me
-Boobs are a good selling point for a show, put them on your posters...even if you're doing the Miracle Worker! ESPECIALLY if you're doing the Miracle Worker.
-We all like soda
*****
Movers are worth whatever you have to pay for them. Especially if you are a total candyass about the heat like I am. (See the above entry on urination)

Labels: Fringe Festival, Moving, Multi-Story Post, Phone, The Brink, Weather