Cell Phone Dude

He shuffles in with that I’m-so-cool-and-dejected look, drops into a chair, lets out a loud sigh and asks, “Did that phone ring?” He points to the candy bar cell phone on the floor, then asks again, “Did that phone ring.” And in that moment I realize that there’s a higher power sending these people to me so I can tell you about them. This is my blessing; this is my curse.

Cell phone dudeYou be watching’ my calls, mmmkay?

Cell Phone Dude pulls himself up out of the chair and picks the phone up off the floor. Now his back is to everyone in the coffee shop. That’s the move that creates a cone of silence around him so we don’t know he’s there any more.

The phone goes back to the floor and he goes back to his chair. “How do I get to El Camino,” he announces. Yes, we’re all now Cell Phone Dude’s personal assistants. Well, everyone except me because I can’t ever interfere. That’s how the Prime Directive works.

Someone tells him how to get where he wants to go. When Cell Phone Dude finds out how far away it is he tells us he’ll never make it in time, the gives everyone an expectant look so we all know this is when we’re supposed to offer to drive him the two miles.

And no one offers.

It’s important — oh, so important — that he gets there on time. And still he sits, impatiently waiting for us to all volunteer out time and our cars.

I wonder if he has Emo Boy’s phone number. I could check. After all, his cell phone is on the floor.

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