Works Every Time
Ring…..
Ring…..
Ring…..
OK. I guess I’ll answer.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Rizzo. My name is Margaret, and I’m calling from the National Cable Subscriber Survey Company. How are you today?”
“Ailing.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ailing. Not well. Sick. Been better. A little nauseous. Capice?”
Cautiously, “Oh.” Pause. “Yes . Well, I want to ask you a few short …..”
“Actually it started about a year ago with a slight cough that wouldn’t go away. I didn’t really think much of it but, darn it, I just couldn’t shake it. Know what I mean?”
“Um, yes, sir, I do. But I just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding…”
“And then my left leg started feeling like I’d just had a rough bungee jump landing. Actually, I don’t bungee jump. Not anymore. No sir. I learned my lesson the hard way. Ever bungee jump Ma’am?”
“Um, no sir, I haven’t. But I would like to ask you…”
“If you ask me I’ll tell you right off. Don’t do it. Not off a bridge. Not with a guy who wears a motorcycle chain for a belt hooking you up anyway. Looked like he’d either done time or inhaled too much sawdust. He had a tattoo on his lower lip that said ‘Welcome.’ And I think his name lacked vowels. Know the kind of guy I’m talkin’ about Ma’am?”
“Well, I guess I do. But Mr. Rizzo I was wondering what type of movie…”
“A movie! That’s just what it felt like I was in when he asked me if I was religious. Jeeze! What kind of question is that to ask a guy who’s about to jump off a bridge with only a crash helmet and a big rubber band hooked to his crotch? And I would have said something, too, if he hadn’t pushed me so hard. Next thing I know I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to explain the fact that I’m hanging upside down ten feet below the bridge and feeling pretty sure I won’t have to worry about birth control for a little while. You still with me, Ma’am?”
Silence. Sigh.
“Yes Mr. Rizzo, I still want to know…”
“I’m just getting to the good part. You’ll definitely want to know this part anyway. The rubber band must have gotten hooked on something because instead of plunging 150 feet I only made it the first 10 feet. And I just hung there. The guy with the motorcycle chain belt wasn’t paying as much attention to me as I would have liked, either. Actually he was walking away looking at some hot rod car with a girl in it wearing what might have been a thong. I didn’t know you could use those for a halter top. It actually worked pretty well as a halter top. Anyway, there I was slowly bobbing up and down like….”
“Mr. Rizzo?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think I can listen to any more of this.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened?
New male voice:
“Excuse me, Margaret. Mr. Rizzo?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Theodore Bundy, Ms. Blankenhead’s supervisor.”
“Theodore Bundy?”
“Yes, sir”
“You from Florida?”
No, sir. Milwaukee.”
“Oh. ‘Cause I used to play croquet with a Ted Bundy when I was in college. He was from Florida. Had a mean left hook. Sort of lost track of him, though.”
“Mr. Rizzo, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stop talking to Ms. Blankenhead. You know, we have a business to run and, frankly, I don’t think you are our kind of customer anyway.”
“Ted? May I call you Ted?”
Resigned, “Sure.”
” Are you sure you’re not from Florida, ’cause the guy I used to know sounded a lot like you, except he used to have a little wheeze when he swallowed, said it was from some freak accident that happened during a beer chugging contest in the Ratskellar. ‘Course I had no way of knowing whether or not that was true; he would stop wheezing if he took the plug out of the hole in his throat, though. Should have seen him chug a pitcher. See, he could breath through the hole in his throat and swallow at the same time. Talent. Pure and simple.”
Silence.
“Ted?”
Pause.
Slowly, “Yes?”
“Ever bungee jump?”
Click.
Works every time.