On Tuesday night, I went over to my friend Scott’s place for dinner. He cooked a nice meal, I brought some not-bad beer, and when we were done, he turned on his giant TV so I could watch the baseball game.
But the digital cable was out.
So Scott called Comcast, and the tech support gal walked him through a few troubleshooting steps… at one point, Scott asked if she could hang on because he needed two hands to fiddle with some wiring. He hit a button on his phone, set it down on the floor between us, and as he was crawling under the TV, asked me if I’d colored my hair…
“It’s more extreme. It looks good.
“Thanks. It had better look good… it cost me (undisclosed) fucking dollars.”
(momentary pause, then me again) “I sure hope this nice, helpful lady is on mute, and didn’t have to hear me cussing.”
“Actually, she’s on speaker-phone.”
” … ” (Mind reels. Wait, this is Scott. He deadpanned it, so of course, he’s kidding.)
(Scott, a little louder) “Ma’am, are you still there?”
(disembodied laugh emanates from the cell phone sitting on the floor) “Yes, I’m right here. And it’s okay, I’ve heard worse.”
Dying. Just dying. Ma’am, I am so very sorry. I do occasionally pepper my language with such coarseness, but not usually in front of strangers… or while sober. Thank you for handling it with grace. Also, could you tell me where to buy some? Clearly, I’m all out.