I’m Old, Really

This morning I was finishing up …AND INJUSTICE FOR ALL when the phone in the rec room rang. I usually don’t answer it, but the last time I did that it turned out to be the school letting me know that one of the kids I’m on the emergency call list for (Ellie) was sick and they couldn’t reach her parents. So I figured this time I’d answer.


“Hi,” a cheery voice greeted me. “Is Mr. or Mrs. Rowland home?”

“Uh, no,” I respond, my brain already flitting back to the short story. “Nobody’s home but me.”

“Oh, well, when will your mom and dad be home?” the nice lady asks. I stared at the receiver for a moment, dumbfounded, before realizing she was still there.

“Uh, six?” I reply, not wanting to shatter her hopes and dreams as a telemarketer.

“Okay, I’ll try back then. Thank you very much.”

“Sure.” I hang up.

I don’t think I sound that young, but these instances are happening way too often. Damn it telemarketers, I’m 32 years old, not 17! I don’t care how young I look! Or sound!


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