Pirate Texting

26 Mar

First, let me say, I almost was crushed at work today by a co-worker. I was in the stockroom, shoes, where there are large rolling shelves of shoes. I was between two of them, trying to grab at shoes and somewhat hidden from view (I’m tiny and can hide easily in these environments).

My back was turned and the shelves were tightening, closing in on me, and I had to give a quick yelp and jump about before being crushed between two metal shelves…. of Reeboxs and Nikes. Shudders. Rocks in fetal position.

It was very traumatic. I deserve a metal of… bravery. Or a new pair of shoes. Something.

Actually, I think I am the only one that has a serious fear of these racks of shoes and being crushed, but seriously, it could happen. And it scares me something terrible.

________________________

ANYWAYS-

Who likes to text?

If so, raise your hand. Or text me saying “I am!” (Just kidding, don’t do that, silly.)

My hand is not raised. I don’t like texting. I think it is impersonal, costs too much, and leaves too much room for misinterupptation. Sure, the little note here and there, but overall, I’m a lets-talk-on-the-phone-and-hear-each-other’s-voices kind of gal. Anyone with me? Can I get an Amen, please?

Honestly, just call me, I’d love to talk to you. Texting is for weeniessssss.

My pirate father is NOT a texter. I repeat, not a texter. In fact, he is not very talkative on the phone either, usually calling and talking for about 27 seconds and then abruptly hanging up because the hockey game is on, or his HOOTER wings have arrived and he needs to devour them in manly timing, or he is stuck at Lowe’s and just found some really great deals on carpet squares- something that is a necessary in every room- right?

Why then, my father, this morning was texting at 7am is a mystery to me. Let me explain.

This is his phone:

Razor, my pirate's cell phone

I have only seen him use it to call people occasionally, and when he does, he just flips it open and bellows the name of the person into the mouthpiece. It is voice-activated (very trendy and high-tech if you ask me), making it very foolproof for people who are not well adjusted with tech phones ::father::

No dialing needed, just have the name ready and a loud, clear voice.

So this morning, I am up early, drinking my freshly made french-pressed coffee at the table. I have one of my many girl magazines spread out in front of me and am completely engrossed in an article with a very chiseled-looking man with a rueful smile, when my father goes-

“Did you get my text? I just texted you.”

I look up. Text? It is 7am and he and I are the only ones up. Why would he text me? My phone is upstairs, next to my bed, where I always leave it.

“No,” I respond suspiciously, “Why would you text me? I am right here, next to you… we can talk.” I gesture at the kitchen table.

He gives me a goofy smile. “I texted Mom too. I want to go to breakfast. I invited you guys.”

Ding! Ding! Ding! My mother’s cell phone, which is clearly in her purse next to the kitchen table, goes off with the breakfast invite text.

My pirate father looks very pleased upon hearing the text come in on her phone. Some weird euphoric sensation?

“I just texted everyone,” he says it very nonchantantly, like you would say I just read this book or I just got the mail.

He sips some coffee. “I just clicked a bunch of boxes hahahaha, I even texted that guy from Up North!”

Now, I am puzzled. What guy from Up North? Am I suppose to know about some hermit up there? Is this some distant relative?

Or maybe, I begin to think excitedly, he is talking about some kind of secretive, attractive lumberjack character that he stealthily has been honing and priming for me… Oh my, stop it. My mind has been eroded by these darn magazines, I think, staring down at my Cosmo.

DAD,” I say sternly. “What guy from Up North? And how many people did you text?? Why didn’t you just ask me to breakfast like, in person?”

He is completely engrossed in his phone now, having gotten a response from his mass breakfast text. Dismissively, he doesn’t answer my questions but concentrates on responding to his text.

“Oh Shit, this is harder than I thought…. Danny texted me back and wants to know where Linda’s and Benny’s is at (two breakfast locations)… Hey, L, is there a send all button? Like, if I want to send something to everyone?”

He peers up and looks at me as if he has just asked the million dollar question. So, this is what you want to do, I think. This has been the scheme all along.

“No,” I answer quickly. “Not possible.”

“Well, shit… this is taking a lot out of me. Now I have two messages to read.”

More texting.

Finally, after sending his friend directions to where the breakfast locations, he gets a response. This is what his friend texted back:

“I’m in FL. What’s up?”

My pirate father smiles, acting like this is completely scintillating news. “Now, isn’t that cute,” he says in a satisfactory way as if he is communicating the elite way.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Dad! Why would he tell you he is in FL and what is up after he asked for directions to your breakfast invite?” My voice is shrill with frustration. Oh dear, I am aware that I am slightly snappy but this whole texting business has completely ruined my plan of drooling over chiseled-man article and ads for really cute sun dresses and tangerine sandals!

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he goes over to the computer and begins to check email. He is in sweats and as always (without fail) is wearing a Detroit winter hat on his head. Only, is is not on his head really, but mostly just propped there- carefully balanced snuggly.

Checking email

This is the front of the famous hat. I have always, always seen my father wear this. It probably is older than me.

This hat is like a relic in the Hergott household.

Anyways, I should really go see what this text was all about, don’t you think? I grab my coffee and Cosmo (pirate father does not need to see what kind of scandalous crap I am reading these days), and sidling out of the kitchen, upstairs, I grab my phone.

OH my. Oh my…

Why at 8:32? Why not.... 8:30? Anyone?

Obviously the right sentence of inviting others to breakfast takes a bit of honing, I think in his defense.

I still have not gotten a straight answer out of him as to why we were invited to breakfast at preciously, 8:32 AM.

Why not…. 8:30? 8:28?

Does anyone else get breakfast invites like this?

-L

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One Response to “Pirate Texting”

  1. casandra cook March 27, 2011 at 3:45 pm #

    this is so funny i really miss your family hahahah and he alwaysss wears that hat !!

    why 8:32 hahahahha

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