my mumblings

once upon a time, the phone rang.

me: this is abby.

him: this is pain in the [butt].

me: *laughs* what can i do for you?

him: what margins do you want for that book?

me: *brains fires* *thinking thinking thinking, i know i just sent him a book. what was it? oooh, the author is on the tip of my tongue* *think think think, the title, yes, oh, i know this* going out. *balances phone on shoulder* *types into database*

him: oh, well can you call me back?

me: what? call you back? no, i just need one sec. i can’t get the database to work right. *types furiously* just one more sec. one more…

him: you said you were going out.

me: oh, no, *laughs* that’s the book’s title.

him: *pauses* why, yes it is.

me: you thought, what, i don’t speak in complete sentences anymore? going out. no talking. done here.

him: hanging up now.

me: i like it.

him: *coughs* *clears throat* *coughs* keeling over.

me: how about if i give you the margins? will that make you feel better?

him: it would.

and that’s how books get made, or more accurately, a really old book gets scanned in hopes of becoming a print or e-version.

the end.

Tags: boston, facts

This entry was posted on March 15, 2013 at 8:00 am and is filed under convos with strangers. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.