Pregnancy Brain, Case Number 4,352: Amy and the Great White Phone

September 15, 2009

I'm nothing short of a spectacle these days--a true sight to behold, if you will.

The very last thing I need to do is draw any unnecessary attention in my direction--but let's not forget, I'm Amy Lawson, and that happens to be my speciality.

I've been at work since 6 o'clock this friggin' morning. I got here early for two reasons. First, I'm an independent contractor, and I'm trying my damnedest to bank some hours before this baby comes in a couple of weeks, and second, I had a 7 o'clock meeting.

As soon as the meeting was over I realized how unbelievably hungry I was, so I grabbed my wallet, my phone, and my keys, and set off for my very favorite muffin joint. Which happens to be inside of a gas station. Because Maine is totally classy like that.

As I was driving to the gas station, I grabbed my phone to call Jared, and guess what? Nothing. No reception whatsoever. The phone was completely dead, like something out of a Brady Bunch episode where Bobby fiddles with that old school phone cradle, smiles, and hops on his banana seat bike to go let Ethel the Operator know about the issue in person. Too bad "Ethels" don't exist anymore, because hoo boy, I could really use someone to let go on today.

Anyway, the lack of service was kind of strange for that particular spot on the road, but again, I live in Maine, and rumor has it that some people up here still crap in cooking pots and throw it out their living room windows--so really now, what more could I expect from a silly piece of modern technology?

I pulled into the gas station, gathered up my things, and waddled toward the door. As usual, people turned to look. I'm used to this now, especially after Jared let me know why--apparently it looks like I'm "walking around with a donut shoved up [my] ass."

To which I say: Well thanks, hun! You know, I wasn't gonna mention this, but it smells like you're walking around town with an industrial waste dump shoved up your ass, so I guess we could both use a good old enema, now couldn't we? Love ya!

Anywho, I waddled across the parking lot smiling in response to a couple of stares and snickers, loathing nineteen-year-olds, and thinking to myself, "If only I had a legitimate reason to kick you in the balls right now...." and "Once upon a time, you came out of some one's vagina, too. So shut the hell up!"

And then I thought about the talk I gave in church on Sunday. It was about kindness. It was really good.

I walked into the store and carefully selected the biggest chocolate chip muffin of the lot. I guess it was the gas station's birthday (or some crap like that) so it was on sale for a dollar. Finally, my mood was beginning to change.

That is until Mike, the middle-aged cashier, looked me bang in the eye and said, "Nice phone."

I was confused, my cell phone sucks--it's broken and it's always kind of greasy. How could this man possibly be complimenting my nasty little Nokia?

Well, turns out he wasn't. He was complimenting the gigantic, white, portable phone that belongs on a cradle in my office. You know, since that was the one I brought along with me.

I didn't even have a purse to conceal that monster on my way out of the store, so I manned up, and walked by those boys for a second time. What used to be a quiet snicker had turned into a big old whoop-de-doo! They were busing a gut over there. At my expense.

So I did the only logical thing that a grown woman could do. I said, "You suck. Both of you." And then I ran to my car and cried for a minute.

The End.