Commentary: The Sunday Phone Call

Someone in Brooklyn, New York needs to lay off the fermented drinks.  Yeah, the guy who called me at 1:30 A.M., MST on Sunday.  I’m a creature of deadlines.  Twenty some years ago my livelihood depended on meeting hourly deadlines and sometimes even more frequently than each hour.  It has a number of benefits for life.  You organize thoughts on a blackboard in your head.  The chalk outlines the bullet points.  It allows you to compartmentalize and organize.

Five days every week I host a radio talk show at 8:00 A.M.  I rise between 4 and 5 o’clock and have breakfast and coffee and am preparing for topics before I leave the house.  I arrive at work between 5 and 5:15 and start printing and highlighting and editing sound.  By 7:30 I like to have everything sorted and in order for the show, which is mapped out on a legal pad.  Then before air I have coffee, use the potty and walk outside and breathe fresh air for a few minutes.

On weekends I rise early.  Once you’re in the habit it’s not easy to break the eyes open habit.  Then I’ve got time for laundry, reading and omelets.  Then I drive into work and feed the neighborhood cats.  Yesterday (Saturday) I had all of these things done, had gone shopping and had an hour long workout by 10:20 A.M.

I watched baseball before bed Saturday and thoroughly enjoyed seeing the New York Met’s shut out by Washington.  In the latter innings I was sipping a large glass of ice water.  Then I started chewing on the ice cubes in a tense 1-0 contest.  A few weeks ago I came across a story during show prep about chewing ice.  It can be a bigger pick-me-up than caffeine.  Shortly after 8:00 P.M. Mountain Time time I went to bed.  And I watched the ceiling.  At 9:30 I got up and checked e-mail.  Then I watched more of the ceiling.  About 10:20 every emergency siren in Twin Falls went roaring by my place.  About ten thirty what appeared to be sirens from several neighboring counties went wailing past in the otherwise silence.  Just before 11:00 o’clock I needed to release some water.  Finished I crawled back into bed.  The water in the potty didn’t stop running.  I got up, pulled the top off the tank and shook the chain.  The tank filled.  I crawled back into bed.  A few minutes later I heard trickling water.  Just a slow but steady trickle.  I got up and went into the bathroom and turned the knob and silenced the toilet for the night.

Then I fell soundly asleep.

At first I thought I was dreaming the telephone was ringing.  Then I realized it truly was an incoming call.  I raced to the kitchen but the ringing suddenly stopped.  The area code was 718.  This morning there were no messages but reverse lookup explains it’s a land line in Brooklyn.  When the call occurred it was 3:30 A.M. on the east coast.  A handful of friends and old coworkers live there but only a couple may have my current telephone number.  Two of them don’t stay up late at night and drink.  They get out of bed early on Sunday mornings and go to church.  I’d call the number but if it’s some spiteful dope dealer I don’t want a conversation.  I’d like to think it’s a depressed fan of the Met’s.  Let me kindly offer a Zoloft because when the leaves turn to brown the Nat’s will wear the crown.  I hope Washington gives New York another whooping this afternoon.  And stay off my line!