Let me say that, in this day of astounding high-tech
communication
– cell phones, e-mail, instant chat, call waiting, computer
video conferences and message machines – you are lucky to get one
legible scribble from your family. Yes, it’s true.
Let me say that, in this day of astounding high-tech communication – cell phones, e-mail, instant chat, call waiting, computer video conferences and message machines – you are lucky to get one legible scribble from your family. Yes, it’s true.
Take, for example, the phone message my 14-year-old daughter wrote yesterday that looked like “7hnmk.” Now, some of you (and you know who you are) might not see a big problem here. However, I don’t know anyone on this earth or, in fact, the entire planet, who goes by that name.
Don’t ask me why my children take messages like this. I suspect it’s because ever since she learned to type on the computer several years ago, and with text messaging on the phone, that she hasn’t actually used a pen for about six years. But I could be wrong.
So by now I’ve learned that the only hope to get to the bottom of a phone message is to ask a lot of questions. But first, you must narrow it down. In this case I thought of all of the people I know who have five letters and a “seven” in their names.
“Was it a lady?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Did she have a loud or soft voice?”
“Ummm. Loud. Kind of.”
“Was it Susan?” I ask hopefully.
“No.”
“April?”
“Uh, no.”
“Wendy? Carol! Julie?” I ask desperately.
“Nah-uh.”
“How about your brother’s piano teacher?” (Hey, piano has five letters.)
Usually when I’m just about ready to drop the whole thing and hope they call back, something will trigger her memory and she’ll say, “Oh yeah. I think it was Aunt Samantha.”
I, however, must admit that no matter how illegible my daughter’s writing is, it’s an improvement over the I get from my 11-year-old son who, I suspect, uses these notes as an opportunity to practice writing his numbers. The last message he gave me said simply “824-47223392228888.”
But he swears its not his fault, and he has a point. I mean we’ve all heard messages left on our machines in which people start out speaking slowly and clearly, then, for no good reason, suddenly speed up, blurring all seven digits into one humongous number. And, face it-no matter how many times you rewind the tape, it still sounds like “fourninethreeonebitysevenzunmeruninebop.”
But let me just say, my beef isn’t just with phone messages. It’s also grocery lists.
It never fails that, right underneath “bread” and “cereal,” someone comes along and writes “chrsutys.”
And you can’t resort to questioning, mind you, because any fool knows by the time you discover it, you’re in the grocery store – alone.
Oh, you can always try approaching the clerk and saying something like, “Excuse me, but do you have any chrsutys?” But then you run the risk of being met with a stare usually reserved for people claiming to have seen flying saucers.
And you can always skip it, but then there’s the chance that it’s the one and only item on the list that your family can’t live without and you’ll only have to turn around, once you get home, and go right back to the store to get it.
The only solution is to hope you run into someone who’s better at deciphering than you.
And, lo and behold, that’s what happened today. I saw a tired-looking woman squinting at a list, then reaching for a bag of potato chips. I immediately relaxed because I knew I was in the company of another mother.
“Excuse me,” I said, “But, can you read this?” I held out my list and pointed.
“Chimichangas,” she said simply.
Don’t bother asking me how she knew this. I’m just going to chalk it up to one of life’s little mysteries. Like my good friend 7hnmk.
