Saturday, February 27, 2010

If only I could use my power for good

posted Mon, 12 Dec 2005

There was a message on my work voicemail today: “CF, this is Steve Jones. We met several months ago at M’town Chocolates. I never called because I lost your card but I just found it. I’ll call you next week. Maybe we can have a drink together.”

That call sent chills of fear down my spine. I never wanted to give my card to that guy! I was waiting for 15 boxes of chocolate to be wrapped (chocolate to send to the folks in the factories) and this guy and I fell into conversation. Well, heck, I’ll talk to anyone if I’m bored. He was nice enough. Dressed in a suit, which is something I always like to see, as I hate business casual. Middle-aged. (Although according the Kenyan guy on Holly B’s site, I am an elderly white lady myself.)

We talked about our mutual love of chocolate. He told me about how he had bicycled across Europe when he was in his 20s, sampling chocolate along the way. It was a nice conversation. I was not flirting!

He asked where I worked. I told him. He told me he was a lawyer, handed me his card. I made some joke about keeping it in case I needed my one phone call in the middle of the night.

When I saw his name, I almost asked if he was my friend Nancy Jones’ dad. Instead, I asked if he was related to her. I didn’t want to insult him. Now I wish I had.

Then he asked for my card.

I hesitated.

Was he asking for my phone number? What should I do? I am not accustomed to men asking for my phone number. In fact, I think it’s happened maybe two or three times my entire life. What are you supposed to do if the man asking for your number is not a man in whom you are interested?

My sister, the man magnet, is a pro at this. She would have known exactly how to handle the situation. “Oh, I don’t have any,” she would have said breezily.

Somehow, I think this guy would have had a comeback. “Let me write your number on one of my cards,” he would have replied.

But Jenny’s trick to that is to transpose a few digits. “That way, they think they just wrote the number down wrong and their feelings don’t get hurt,” she explains.

But with a sinking feeling, I gave him my card. I didn’t want to go out with this guy!

He never called. As days passed and the risk grew less, my relief grew. Whew! Off the hook!

Now we are in December, four months later. Crap! What to do? Now I have a serious honey and I really don’t want to have a drink with this guy. Even if I didn’t have SH, I wouldn’t want to have a drink with this guy.

So he is going to call next week. Or maybe he left the message Friday afternoon when I cut out early and he meant this week. Rats. If I can just avoid all local calls – let them go to voicemail and then return the ones I want – until the end of the year – actually, until I stop working out of the office, which will be December 20 – I might be able to avoid this situation altogether. Can you say “chicken?”

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