Conversation.

The phone sat right there, by the computer. And for some reason, as we all know, when you set down a phone by the computer, it's just BEGging to ring. Whether you want it to do so is out of the question; it does regardless. Anyway. Instant messenger was of course running, because sometimes you really don't want the hassle of actually talking to someone.

All of a sudden, the computer screen begins to get those lines, you know the ones. The ones when your phone is sitting, right there, and the computer is getting the interference from the phone.

Did I mention it was a cell phone? Good.

The tune of "Pump It," as such a quintessential ringtone, blasts because I never bothered to turn the volume down from "Are your ears bleeding yet?"

I pick up the phone, rather gingerly, for I had not been expecting a call. An unknown area code presents itself. All I remember is that it started with an 8, and I have NOThing but contempt for area codes that begin with 8. But, I thought, I suppose I could endulge my cellular device this once.

Flipping open the phone, I put the receiver to my ear.

If you were wondering, whenever I open the phone it automatically answers.

"Yes?"

HA!..."Hello" is too antique.

Only the sound of a man with a slightly Midwestern accent would come over the other end.

"Is Bernard there?"

Now I know what you're thinking. Just how on Earth did someone get MY number confused with Bernard's?

For the record, the accent was on the "Ber-" part, not the "-nard." Try saying it out loud to figure it out.

With sarcasm that would freeze over Dante's Inferno, "Ummm....No."

"Oh I'm terribly sorry, I must have the wrong number. Sorry."

The irritation in his voice permeated the air only slightly. But it was there. You could tell.

But it filled my heart with glee to know that not only was he sorry, but terribly so. TERribly so. Ha ha...I chuckled.




But come on...BERnard?