I’ve never really typed like this before, and I say that completely aware that you have no idea what I’m talking about based on that sentence alone. I’m lying on my stomach, because for some reason it’s really comfortable at the moment, or was, but as soon as I decided to write, not wanting to change position (point for laziness), it’s become not as comfortable as it was when I was just going to close my eyes listening to music really loudly not caring if I drifted off into a six hour nap which would throw me completely off schedule.
The problem is in my shoulders. It’s just not comfortable for them with my body on the bed but my chest held up so I can type better. And if I lie completely down, with my chin touching the mattress otherwise my neck would ache too much – it’s aching with my chin on the mattress as well but not as badly – I can’t type as fast as when I have my chest up. Plus it’s stressful on my forearms, for reasons I’m not entirely sure of, which annoys me because I feel like the reasons should be evident, but maybe I’m just too dumb to put 4,528 and 8,475 together – I didn’t go with the cliché two and two because as I just said it’s cliché and I read in a book once that writers shouldn’t be cliché, and although my stubbornness and desire to be unique compels me to disobey every rule I read in books on writing (why read so many books on writing then?) I couldn’t agree more with that tip, for the most part, plus as I said I have a desire to be unique, which oddly enough isn’t a unique desire, and being cliché is the complete opposite of unique, and also not being able to put two and two together isn’t dumb, in a literal sense it’s extremely retarded, and while I would certainly admit I’m no Maria “maja” Einstein (Albert’s assumedly less smart little sister), I also wouldn’t say I’m extremely retarded, but mostly just because I can’t spell extremely (you just spelled it three times) yeah, but I’m too retarded to notice. Have I used the word retarded enough?
Speaking retarded – this next part isn’t really that retarded, I just wanted to use a cliché segue to see if anyone would notice that after saying that I hate the cliché I did something cliché, did you notice? – today I got a misdial call from someone who sounded like an old man. Here’s how it went,
Quentin, also known as me, I just like seeing my name written out: “Hello?”
Old man: “Hello, is,” mumble mumble, “there?”
Quentin: Having not understood the mumble, “What?”
Old man: “Is,” mumble mumble, “there?”
Quentin: “What?” still not making out the mumble mumble.
Old man: “Is,” mumble mumble, “there?”
Quentin: having now recognized that the mumble was not my name and that no old man would be calling me ever, “No, you have the wrong number.”
Old man: “Are you sure?”
Quentin: “Yeah, this is 503-890-6949.” Yep, I’m the type of person who would write his phone number in a blog post, but I’m also the type of person who would write a random number in his blog post and then tell everyone that he’s the type of person who would write his real number in his blog post. Just if you call it don’t call too late, Oregon time, you wouldn’t want to wake up whoever that number belongs too, especially if it’s me, actually I almost never care about being woken up by a phone call, unless it’s from my sister, true story, even when sleeping if someone calls me and it wakes me up I almost always have the phone conversation as if it hadn’t just woken me up (enough about your phone number, get back to the call).
Old man: “Well I called Joan with this number yesterday.”
Quentin: “I’m not Joan, I’m Quentin.”
Old man: “I wonder what happened.”
Quentin: “You just dialed the wrong number.”
Old man: “No, I dialed 503-890-6947.”
Quentin: “Yeah, that’s wrong. This is 49, not 47.”
Old man: “What?”
Quentin: “This is 503-890-6949.”
Old man: “503…” pause, “03-890-6949.”
Quentin: “Yeah, you put 49 instead of 47.”
Old man: “Let me write this down.” He assumedly writes it down. “So 503-890-6949, that’s Joan’s number.”
Quentin: “No, that’s the number you just called. That’s my number.”
Old man: “Well what’s Joan’s number?”
Quentin: not knowing why he thinks I would know Joan’s number, although I did because he had said it earlier, “It’s 47 instead of 49. 503-890-6947.”
Old man: “Oh, okay. Sorry about that.”
Quentin: “It’s okay,” it wasn’t, I was thoroughly annoyed…no I wasn’t, this was the high point of my day.
Old man: “Bye.”
Quentin: “Tootles.” I didn’t really say tootles.
I’m not sure why I thought any of that would be interesting. What’s more interesting is when I used to get a call every week from Spanish telemarketers. I would yell at them, “At least have the decency to annoy me in a language I can understand.” And they’d just respond with, “Muy bueno oportunidad.”