The Timing is Everything

Tim has the most amazing sense of timing.

I could sit by the phone the entire day without hearing from him, but the minute I am in the middle of something, that's when he calls.

This week, it started on Monday....late morning....the mall.
I had just gotten to the mall after running about two hours worth of errands, and I needed to use the bathroom (four cups of coffee and a bottle of water will do that to you). No sooner had I gotten in there when...you guessed it. Tim called. Since I was not wearing Depends, I decided to let it go to voicemail. Could his timing be any worse?

As I was washing my hands, the phone rang again...Rose. Good timing. But while I was talking to her, Tim called again, so I tried to click over, but missed him. For most people, this wouldn't be a problem, but this is me I'm talking about, so nothing is easy.

Like every other electronic device in my life, my phone is out to get me. If I click over and miss the call, the phone will not disconnect. It doesn't matter what buttons I push, how many times I curse, or even the force with which I hurl it against the nearest wall, it won't let the call go.

The only way I can place a new call is to power it down and pop out the battery. By the time I completed the necessary maneuvers, Tim wasn't available.

Risking another poorly timed call, I met Rose and, of course, just when I was in the middle of returning an outfit from last weeks fun-filled search for something to wear to a black-tie event, Tim called. Does he have a Lojack on my phone that I don't know about, so whenever I stop moving for more than two minutes, he knows I am in the middle of something, and therefore it is a really bad time to call?

The next time was Wednesday...mid-afternoon...the grocery store.
I hadn't heard from Tim since first thing in the morning. There I was, using the self-checkout when, naturally, he called. Cradling the phone against my ear with my shoulder, I reached for a bag of tomatoes. As I picked them up with my free hand, the bottom of the bag ripped, and...tomatoes everywhere. They just love me at that store.

And so it continued today...late afternoon...the car.
Around 2:30, I called Tim, but his assistant told me he was busy and would call me back. No problem. Grocery store...still no call. CVS...not a word. Photo store...nothing. 3:45, getting out of the car, loaded down with bags, getting rained upon, guess who calls.

Feeling obligated to answer (if I don't he will just keep calling. I know this from past, painful experience), I once again jam the phone between my ear and shoulder (and I wonder why I have neck problems?) and jam my hand in the car door as it slams shut (Hmmm, now I know what is worse than having a full bladder when Tim calls).

Unperturbed by the stream of obscenities I unleashed, Tim asked if it was a bad time to call (does he ever pick a good time?). Telling him to call me back on the house phone in five minutes, I managed to free my mangled hand, and make it into the house before the neighbors called the cops and had me arrested for disturbing the peace.

Ten minutes later, I still hadn't heard from him, so I did something about it. I hauled out the step-ladder and climbed up to put some dishes away in the top cupboard. Sure enough, I had no sooner gotten to the top then the phone rang. Sure enough, it was Tim.