little while ago, and plugged it into my phone. Chose not to complain, nor to ask if I should just keep one of these plugged in 24/7.
“I’d like to get your reactions to a few developments. Are you alone?”
“This isn’t a sex line, so I don’t feel any need to answer that. And I’d like to get your name, rank, and serial number. Or I get to get your reactions to my hanging up.”
Chuckie made the “put it on speakerphone” gesture. Shook my head. Didn’t want to give my mystery caller any intel and hearing the background noises would confirm I wasn’t alone. He rolled his eyes, but made the “keep him talking” sign. Managed not to snort—I was a pro at this well before today’s Surprise Test Callers.
My latest mystery phone buddy chuckled. It didn’t sound evil, and since I’d heard a lot of evil chuckles in the last few years, felt I’d recognize one. However, while it wasn’t evil, it was something else I didn’t care for—patronizing. “I’m a friend.”
“Bullpookey. As I say every time someone tries this supersecret way of pissing me off, my friends identify themselves and I can also recognize their voices. You and I have never spoken, therefore I’m having a challenge believing the whole ‘friend’ line you’re trying to pass.”
Another chuckle. “I’m not trying to be mysterious, I just wanted to be sure it was the real Ambassador Katt-Martini I was speaking to, not a subordinate or stand-in.”
“And dialing my cell phone wasn’t enough proof?”
“No. I needed to, ah, hear your speech patterns to be sure you’re the real deal.”
“Don’t I feel all special? And yet, there you are, being your own kind of special by still not telling me who the hell you are. You have two seconds to spill your secret identity before I decide I’m bored and stop playing this game.”
Yet another chuckle. Got the impression he really thought he was charming. Chose to practice diplomacy and not tell him that he was actually insufferably annoying. “Let me stop being rude and mysterious. I’m Bruce Jenkins, Ambassador. I’m with the Washington Post.”
“Um, hi Bruce. We get the Post already.” And every other paper coughed up in or around our nation’s capital. I never read the papers, but everyone else in the Embassy seemed fond of them. “No need for the special renewal deals.”
Oliver’s turn to jerk, spin, and race over. “Bruce Jenkins?” he asked in a low voice. I nodded.
Jenkins chuckled. “I’ve heard about your sense of humor. You
are
the woman who told the British Consul that Aerosmith would take the Rolling Stones in either a battle of the bands or a battle of, I think your term was, ‘lifelong, total hotties’?”
“Um, yeah. Ages ago.” Well, a year ago. Maybe two. Or so. I tried not to keep track of the things that made me ask why I’d been given this particular job. Oliver was whispering urgently to Jeff, Chuckie and Reader, while also giving me the kill gesture. Frantically. “Bruce, what’s the point of your call? I have a life to get back to.”
“I’d like to interview you. Human interest piece.”
This was a new one. “Human interest interview?”
“Yes.”
“You want to interview me?” Oliver shook his head so hard I thought he’d break his own neck. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not? Your constituents aren’t embarrassed by you, are they?”
I’d spent the start of my career in marketing and the last couple of years in D.C. and I knew a leading, trick question when I heard it. “Oh dear, the water’s boiling over! Have to call you back, Bruce, bye!” I hung up.
“This isn’t good,” Oliver said. The rest of the room had joined us.
“Did I catch this correctly? Your caller was Bruce Jenkins?” Culver asked.
“Yeah. Supposedly from the Washington Post.”
Jeff ran his hand though his hair. “Washington Post?”
“Yes,” Oliver said. “There is no ‘supposedly’ about it.”
Reader
“I’d like to get your reactions to a few developments. Are you alone?”
“This isn’t a sex line, so I don’t feel any need to answer that. And I’d like to get your name, rank, and serial number. Or I get to get your reactions to my hanging up.”
Chuckie made the “put it on speakerphone” gesture. Shook my head. Didn’t want to give my mystery caller any intel and hearing the background noises would confirm I wasn’t alone. He rolled his eyes, but made the “keep him talking” sign. Managed not to snort—I was a pro at this well before today’s Surprise Test Callers.
My latest mystery phone buddy chuckled. It didn’t sound evil, and since I’d heard a lot of evil chuckles in the last few years, felt I’d recognize one. However, while it wasn’t evil, it was something else I didn’t care for—patronizing. “I’m a friend.”
“Bullpookey. As I say every time someone tries this supersecret way of pissing me off, my friends identify themselves and I can also recognize their voices. You and I have never spoken, therefore I’m having a challenge believing the whole ‘friend’ line you’re trying to pass.”
Another chuckle. “I’m not trying to be mysterious, I just wanted to be sure it was the real Ambassador Katt-Martini I was speaking to, not a subordinate or stand-in.”
“And dialing my cell phone wasn’t enough proof?”
“No. I needed to, ah, hear your speech patterns to be sure you’re the real deal.”
“Don’t I feel all special? And yet, there you are, being your own kind of special by still not telling me who the hell you are. You have two seconds to spill your secret identity before I decide I’m bored and stop playing this game.”
Yet another chuckle. Got the impression he really thought he was charming. Chose to practice diplomacy and not tell him that he was actually insufferably annoying. “Let me stop being rude and mysterious. I’m Bruce Jenkins, Ambassador. I’m with the Washington Post.”
“Um, hi Bruce. We get the Post already.” And every other paper coughed up in or around our nation’s capital. I never read the papers, but everyone else in the Embassy seemed fond of them. “No need for the special renewal deals.”
Oliver’s turn to jerk, spin, and race over. “Bruce Jenkins?” he asked in a low voice. I nodded.
Jenkins chuckled. “I’ve heard about your sense of humor. You
are
the woman who told the British Consul that Aerosmith would take the Rolling Stones in either a battle of the bands or a battle of, I think your term was, ‘lifelong, total hotties’?”
“Um, yeah. Ages ago.” Well, a year ago. Maybe two. Or so. I tried not to keep track of the things that made me ask why I’d been given this particular job. Oliver was whispering urgently to Jeff, Chuckie and Reader, while also giving me the kill gesture. Frantically. “Bruce, what’s the point of your call? I have a life to get back to.”
“I’d like to interview you. Human interest piece.”
This was a new one. “Human interest interview?”
“Yes.”
“You want to interview me?” Oliver shook his head so hard I thought he’d break his own neck. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not? Your constituents aren’t embarrassed by you, are they?”
I’d spent the start of my career in marketing and the last couple of years in D.C. and I knew a leading, trick question when I heard it. “Oh dear, the water’s boiling over! Have to call you back, Bruce, bye!” I hung up.
“This isn’t good,” Oliver said. The rest of the room had joined us.
“Did I catch this correctly? Your caller was Bruce Jenkins?” Culver asked.
“Yeah. Supposedly from the Washington Post.”
Jeff ran his hand though his hair. “Washington Post?”
“Yes,” Oliver said. “There is no ‘supposedly’ about it.”
Reader
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