Oh-dark-thirty. 1/6/2005
I was rudely awakened last night to the sound of the telephone ringing. I got out of bed, and let out a small scream as my frozen knees suddenly locked and had to take my weight. I glanced at the Perpetual on my wrist and noted the time as being 4 a.m. Considering the fact that I have several old folks in my immediate and extended family, my heart started pounding, since the dark hours of the night are the time when the Grim Reaper comes a calling.
I shuffled to the phone and said “Hello?” And a Chinese male voice answered, asking for someone or other. I muttered something about a wrong number, and he then started asking more questions, all in Mandarin. I gave up and put the phone down. I walked over to the facilities, and drained my bladder, and looked forward to crawling into bed. My head had no sooner touched the pillow when the phone rang again.
I cursed, and let it ring, hoping that the fax machine would cut in and screech in his ear. Which it didn’t. I considered letting it ring, but got out of bed and answered the phone. At this point, I wished I could speak Mandarin as well as Hanyi, because screaming curses at someone in a language they don’t understand just doesn’t have the same effect.