Please hold for Charles Manson.

Some people are magnets for weirdness. Case in point: each time one of my friends visits a zoo or farmpark, the animals go ape. Yesterday, it was swine diggin' on swine. Blecccchh. Now Kaila's entire preschool class thinks a piggyback ride is something entirely different. As a result, I will never bend over when Kaila wants one. She'll most likely start humping my leg -- or worse. Holy hell. Think of a white polar bear. Think of a white polar bear.

Unlike my pheromone-laden friend who is consistently faced with procreating animals, I get hit with random acts of strange. From people asking if I'm my daughter's nanny to a produce worker offering to detail my car to inmates calling me collect. Yup, you heard right. Collect. Don't they earn money from all the road signs they make? WTF? Collect?!?!? If you want to talk to me that bad, don't make me pay for it, jagoff.

So, tonight, the phone rang. I cringed. I hate answering the brick and usually never do. However, with Mike in Detroit, I thought it might be him calling to tell me how much he misses me. Dummy me fell for it.

Hello?
There was an audible pause and I knew a recording or telemarketer was about to begin.
Click.
I take great joy in hanging up on strangers just as they're about to start speaking. It's part of my charm.

I resumed doing what I had been doing which was...nothing.

The phone rang again. Shit. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on...Oh, hell...

Hello?
Please hold for a collect call from an inmate at Lake County Jail. Call from, (dude says his name, sounds like,) "Charles Manson."
To accept, press 1. To reject, press 5.

I wondered what pressing numbers 2-4 would do. Would #2 release the dude? Would #3 get him an extra pack of cigarettes? Would #4 get him a birthday wish from Geoffrey? And, what number did I need to press to hear everything in Spanish? Oh, this con was playing ringtone roulette with his future by phoning me.

The message repeated. I hesitated. I wondered what Charlie wanted. Should I talk to him? What if he kept calling like the lonely Craig's List video gamer?

Luckily, common sense prevailed. I'm still shocked I pressed 5. Then, seconds later, like a woman whose diamond ring flew overboard, I leapt for the phone, checking the line to see if Charlie might still be there.

Charlie? Charlie? Where are thou, Charlie?

What-ifs played through my head. The guilt began to grow.

What if Charlie was about to be lethally injected? What if he passed on the steak, the carrots and the chocolate milk just to phone a friend? How could I have done this to him? WWRD*?, I wondered.

Too late. #5 was my final answer. RIP, longtimer. Chuckie, I hardly knew ye.


*What would Regis do?