Friday, Jul. 10, 2009

This time, columnist becomes story

One of the duties of a columnist is to be the common denominator for readers.

Or so I am told.

Usually I do this by bringing others' stories to you. But sometimes it is by telling my embarrassing stories. It is amazing how many times people have told me they thought that they were the only ones who did some of the dumb things that I have done.

For example, the other day I was listening to my CD player at home. I had it pretty loud. I don't hear as well as I used to. Besides, I like it thumpin'.

Anyway, I thought I could hear my cell phone ringing faintly over the music. I raced into the kitchen because I was sure the phone was on the table. I couldn't find it.

I became frantic because I hate it when I don't answer in time and miss a call. Then I try to call the number back immediately and I get a busy signal because the other person is trying to leave a message.

Meanwhile, the other person may stop the message and try to call me back and I don't know how to take a call while I am on a call and I am paralyzed.

But luckily, when I didn't see the phone I realized it actually was in my pocket all the time and I caught it before the last ring.

Actually I guess it isn't correct to call it a ring anymore. The name now seems to be ring tone because everyone has a song. But does that apply to the call indicator I heard on some guy's phone the other day?

The phone kept telling him, "Hey, answer the phone!"

Or there was this embarrassing incident on Thursday. I was sitting in a pizza meeting at work with a plastic plate loaded with potato chips, pretzels and pizza. I also had a glass of soda.

Somehow I managed to spill the plate on my left side, dumping a large pile of chips and pretzels on the floor. I did save the pizza.

While I was worrying about that, I spilled the soda on the chair next to me and the floor.

This was embarrassing -- and irritating. I had just spilled the last of the potato chips, which were really tasting good. Also, I knew I was destined to be the butt of many unfunny jokes.

I scrambled for paper towels and a couple of sympathetic fellow workers, including my boss, cleaned up the mess.

In addition, I felt obliged to sit in the wet seat because it was my mess. I would feel guilty sitting in my dry seat while someone else had to risk his or her pants.

Luckily we got the seat dried out enough so that a few newspapers piled on it kept my pants dry. But I'm still missing those chips and most of my dignity -- like always, it seems.

And I got pizza sauce on my shirt, which still is better than the other night when I was cooking and flipped a big drop of spaghetti sauce out of the pan and onto my bare big toe.