O'Really?
November 4, 2002
Tracy:
How do we get ourselves into some of the things we do?
I’m on the Internet, minding my own business, when Jessica sends me an e-mail that reads only:
"CALL ME CALL ME CALL ME 832-555-1212"
I know what she wants. Over the weekend, I had e-mailed her a link to a column in the Cincinnati Enquirer about some Miami University students upset that they get four CNN channels but no Fox News on their dorm cable system. I figured Miss Conservative would get a kick out of hearing about people denied their basic American right to having Bill O’Reilly on their basic cable.
Even better than a good chuckle, she writes back, she thinks there’s a segment for her radio show in it and she says she might call me for more information. All I know about it was what I read in the column to which she now has access (as you do too now) but I make a mental note to try to track down the president of the Miami U. student Republicans quoted in the column for her. She could do it herself but who is the sensible man who lets an attractive woman do any of her own legwork? At least that kind of legwork.
Better would be to get the guy who wrote the column. Peter Bronson is an ardent conservative whose recent columns also included an argument for teaching creationism alongside evolution to Ohio high school students.
I jot a note back to Jess explaining that I’m going to look up something for her and I’ll get right to her but she writes back, “no no no, pls call me!”
Well if it’s not that, what on earth could be so urgent? We’re pals and all and she sometimes calls me when she wants to vent about this that or the other (I can never figure out which). But I’m not the first one she calls when she’s having a crisis and I’m not bucking for promotion into the top spot.
There is a way to find out what she wants. I could call her. That's my first mistake.
“I talked to my boss,” she says, “and after telling him about your O’Reilly impression he says that instead of the student he wants you.”
Instinct says this is a bad idea. You got to hear my version of O’Reilly on Jess’ voice mail yourself so you know it’s close enough to entertaining for a friend, especially Jess because she can’t get enough of it. (I finally come up with something a good looking woman can’t get enough of and it’s something done better over the telephone! Of course.) I don’t think my O’Reilly is going to go over as well to listeners of KSEV radio in Houston.
But who is the sensible man who lets down an attractive woman, even at the risk of embarrassing himself on live radio?
Mistake number two. I agree to do it.
And then I come to my senses as soon as I hang up the phone. But I don’t have to tell her, do I? I could just never answer my phone again. That would work. But then she’d e-mail me. And if I didn’t answer that she’d know I was either dodging her or I had died. As helpful as the latter would be in getting me out of this, I have too much money in the bank to die just yet.
(No! That is not a “Doctor Boy”-like attempt to impress you with my financial security, it just means that whatever I can’t take with me I want to spend before I go. But you really should tell DB that he should go with the convertible Jag instead of the hard top. If nothing else about him is hard why should his car be any different?)
I e-mail Jess explaining that, after some thought, I don’t need to be doing my Bill O’Reilly impression on the radio.
“The Bill O’Reilly impression is secondary,” she writes back. “You won’t do it even if Dan (the host) asks?”
“I’ll do it,” I reply. But I also tell her that I still think someone else would make a better guest on the subject. She does not want another guest on the subject.
Jess: “If you don't want to do it, that's fine. I thought it would be fun for you to do, and a good thing as well since Dan would mention your name and station 20 times, and name recognition in a top market is always a good thing. Seriously, don't worry about it. I'll figure something else out. Thanks anyway.”
Uh oh. Do you think I’ve got my little hottie a little hot under the collar? I think so too. The spiel about name recognition gives it away. I don’t need people in Houston to know my name or my station in Cincinnati but I don’t think Jess wants to know that at this moment.
As instructed, seriously nor not, I don’t worry about it. She’ll figure something else out. I write back simply, “That’s for the best. Thank you, my dear.”
But how did all of this start in the first place? An attempt -- apparently too successful -- at a humorous voice mail message winds up getting the person I made it for mad at me.
No act of kindness goes unpunished, the saying goes, and I haven't finished serving my time for this one. As I log on to send this to you, there’s another message from Jessica:
“I guess I don't understand why you're so reluctant to do it. I guess I thought you'd want to help me.”
How do we get ourselves into some of the things we do?
John
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©2002 John McQuiston