At 6:30 this morning, my cell phone rang. It was too early for Tessa to be calling to tell me that I was late to meet her at the gym at 9:30, but I was so disoriented that I jumped out of bed and had my spandex in one hand already when I answered the phone.
Silence. Click.
I got back in bed, studying the number in my caller ID and fuming because by now, I was wide awake and I had jumped up so fast that my heart was racing as if I’d already run to the gym. Holding up the cell phone like a miniature Gameboy, I shuffled through the recent calls list and punched ‘Send’ with a passive-aggressive thumb.
“Hello?”
“Hi. If you call someone and wake them up at 6:30 in the morning, it would be nice if you at least said something before hanging up.”
“No…no…” I could tell the poor guy didn’t actually speak english.
“Well, fine. Good-bye.” My itch for revenge adequately satisfied, I dozed off, curled up with the phone in my hand. At 7:30, it rang again, same number on the caller ID. Because if you dial the wrong number, wait an hour and try again, it might be right this time. Only this time, I was prepared.
“Hola!” Confused the anonymous caller out of his mind. And then proceeded to scold him in his mother language. Don’t worry, I wasn’t too harsh. My spanish vocabulary isn’t very developed in the reprimanding department, so I told him that it was “not fair and not nice” to call someone ‘en la manana cuando no habla.’ He stuttered out an apology in english. I wanted to tell him that he might as well say ‘lo siento,’ since, by now, we were speaking the same language. Instead, I was reduced to, “Thank you. Have a nice day.”
