The Phone Call
“Is this 860 555 1212 (not my real number but I really don’t want the world to know it, no offense)…”
“Uh Huh.”
“My name is Mr. Brown I’m calling about an IRS issue that could garnish your wages, take your house…”
I fell for a robocall, son-of-a…
“Mr. Brown are you an IRS agent.”
“I am calling about a federal tax matter…”
“Wow I hope I’m not in trouble Mr. Brown, I’m, so sorry if I am, whatever you want I will do whatever you want to clear this matter up, but first, just for safety measures, I’m sure you understand, would you please give me your badge number.”
“Um, I’m sorry I’m not authorized to give that information out.”
“Hmm, that’s unusual, you see I have no problem giving you right now MY BADGE NUMBER.”
Click.
Yep, works every time, and for the record, here’s my badge number: Post Raisin Bran Prize Sheriff Tin Badge #1.
Been an authorized Post Raisin Bran Sheriff for 60 years now, got it out of the cereal box in 1956…
the other phone call that day
So Barb and her sister, Christine, are in the kitchen cooking up dinner, my son, Jimmy and his girlfriend, Chelsea are sitting at the island talking with them.
Barb’s voice drifts out the open kitchen window and swirls around the deck where Charlie, Chris’s husband and myself stand next to a grill full of steaks, “Don are you cooking the steaks.”
“Yes,” I say as I watch Charlie flip the steaks with some sort of long steak flipping fork.
BTW, at that exact moment neither Barb or her sister can actually see out the kitchen window and down the deck where I am…cooking the steaks.
I am the longest tenured son-in-law in Barb’s side of the family and as such have EARNED the right to fudge facts sometimes like any of the real kids in her family.
Charlie knows that and just keeps cooking as you know, me, while silently doing the brother-in-law math in his head to determine when our other bro-in-law, James will one day at a family get together , cook as Charlie.
“Are the steaks almost done,” comes from inside the window, not sure who said it but I look at Charlie who shakes his head yes to which I say back to the window, and whomever behind it who is caring, “Yep I believe so….”
That answer of course was a MISTAKE as Barb suddenly comes to look out the window because she knows (A) It was a trick question because (B) She knows I have absolutely no knowledge when a steak is done, or not done and (C) that means someone else who has knowledge on how to cook a steak and know when it was almost done must (D) be cooking the steak for me.
45 years of marriage and I still can’t see these trick questions coming.
Luckily, just at that moment I get robo-called-again.
“Hello,” I say as I answer it only to see Barb move out of the window and back to working in the kitchen which means that damn, if I only waited a second or two longer I would have cleared both the steak business and the robo business.
“Hello Mr. Barone…”
Will it never stop I’m thinking as I’m moving the phone from my ear to hit the “go away” loud siren button app I have for just these calls…
“…Mr. Barone, Don, this is Jacob…” huh not the “IRS” huh, “…you know Jake…”
Jake, do I know any Jakes, who the hell is Jake and what is he…
“…you know, Ashley’s Jake.”
Oh, THAT Jacob/Jake.
“Hey dude, what’s up.”
“Um, not much how are you.”
“Good, I’m cooking steaks now,” which is not a lie because I can still see Charlie cooking the steaks as me.
“Huh (Ashley must have squealed on my steak cooking secret) I’m just calling to personally ask you for your daughter’s….”
SHIT!!!
“….no, no, no, Jacob, Jake hold on a minute, hold on a minute…”
Oh no, oh no, oh no, I know what he is about to say and so help me God I am not going to be the only one to hear this and make any decision, ANY, decision like this alone, no, no, no I’m going to act like a real man and…call my wife.
“Charlie, HEY CHARLIE, get Barb for me will you….hang on a minute Jacob, Jake, don’t say anything just hang on…CHARLIE get Barb out here…”
And so he does, and Barb comes out the back door all fired up in husband-what-now-mood “WHAT, WHAT do you want, I’m cooking you know, WHAT DO YOU WANT, oh and BTW nice job cooking those steaks, WHAT!!”
“The phone, I want you to listen to someone on the phone.”
With that I hit the speaker button and put the phone up between both of our ears, “Mrs. Barone, Barb, Mr. Barone, Don, I’m calling to ask your permission to marry your daughter, Ashley.”
And slowly, one tear drop hits the phone case.
And a moment later, another tear drop hits the phone case.
Then in stereo, Jake hears only this:
“Yes.”
