Thursday, December 15, 2011

The Call

I'm sitting on a bench in a park (the kind of place I spend a lot of the time I'm not at work, as I gravitate toward any semblance of nature in this lifeless wasteland), and this pretty, bland-looking girl comes up to me. I say girl, but she's at least five years older than me. She's half in tears and frantically babbling in a heavy accent.

"Er...what was that, dear?" I ask politely.

"Blah blah accent accent something about topping off (?) my phone and I need to call my friend to meet me here can I call him from your phone will be so quick frantic panicky blathering blah."

I look her up and down as I assess the situation. She's about five foot five (taller than me) and a size two (miniscule). I doubt she's a good enough actress to fake her current state of distress, but if so, she's quite spry-looking and can no doubt outrun me. On the other hand, I can absolutely take her down before she can take a step.

I figure, hey, what the hell, I'm a damned Good Samaritan and shit, and I hand her my beautiful new phone.

She dials and holds it up to her ear as I watch, calmly waiting to tackle her. She hands the phone back. "It didn't go through."

I am slightly disappointed.

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