Cueing Lines

[Note on the homework: If you're having trouble with #2, you are welcome to do #4]

1) I'll admit, most of 2002 was a blur. Still, it's difficult to forget way one feels lost in the rain forest, being pursued by an angry baboon...

2) Every Sunday night, my father perfected his pizza-making craft...

3) Over the past three years, I've lost several hours of my life to the world of Warcraft...

4) Sometimes, when I can't sleep and the slapping of the fan becomes intolerable, I wonder what it would be like to be Paris Hilton...

Week 1

It’s not supposed to get to 12ºF in Arkansas. I’m quite certain of this. But then again, lots of things happen in Arkansas that I don’t expect. For example, on Monday, I was scraping the frost off of my windshield when my pocket began vibrating. I dropped the credit card I was using as a de-icer onto the hood of my car and fumbled to pull out my phone. With gloves on, my fingers couldn’t pull it out, and, once I got the gloves off, it had stopped ringing. I forced my frozen fingers back into the gloves; as soon as I had, the phone rang again. Rinse and repeat...On the third try, I managed to flip open the phone.

“Hello?” I dropped the credit card under the car. “Shit.”

“Wut?” It was a southern male drawl that I didn’t recognize

“Sorry…” I was on my knees, pawing through the icy slush. "...Hi..." I found the card and stood up.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” Beat. “Well, I’m callin’ about the truck.”

I paused. I don't own a truck. I'm not sure even know anyone who owns a truck. “The truck?” I asked.

“Yeah, the truck you got fer sale.”

Of course, I had no truck for sale, and I told them man so.

“Sure ya do. I got yer number off the truck.”

I've heard lines before, but not like that one. “I’m sorry, sir. But, I don’t have a truck.”

“Well, this is yer number, ain’t it?”

I conceded.

“Well then ya got a truck fer sale, cause I got yer number off that truck.”

I was utterly baffled by his logic. Furthermore, my face was beginning to get numb. I knocked the rest of the snow off the car with my fist. “Look…” Bang “Sir…” Bang. “I think you may have dialed the number wrong.” Bang.

“Don’ think so. I gotcha didn’t I?”

“You got me, but I don’t think I’m who you wanted to get.” I was confusing myself at this point.

“It don’ matter none. I just wanna know what yer askin’ fer the truck.”

“Sir, I’m not asking anything for a truck.”

“Yer giving it away?”

My eyelashes were beginning to stick to my cheeks. “No!”

“Well, then tell me whatca want for it.”

This approach was getting us nowhere. I decided to try something else. “Where was this truck?”

“In the driveway.”

“And where was the driveway?”

“Well, ya oughtta know, it’s your truck!”

I threw myself into the car and slammed the door behind me. Snow had gathered in my hair, and I couldn't feel my fingers. I turned the heater up as high as it would go and pressed my palms against the vents as I shouldered the phone to my ear.

“Look, sir. I’m not selling a truck. I’m sorry you've wasted your time..."

“Well, dammit girl! If ya ain’t selling the damn truck, why’d you write “For Sale” on it?”

That was it. I was too cold to be polite. I yelled into the phone. “I don’t even have a truck!”

“Oh.” Beat. “If ya sold it already, why didn’ ya just say so?”

I quit. “I’m sorry. I have to end this conversation.”

“Allrighty, but you call me if you chang’n yer mind about sellin’…”

I threw the phone at the passenger window and slammed the car out of the parking lot.

That evening, I curled up on my sofa and checked my messages. Work…Dad…Jon…

[beep] “Uh, hi, this is Dale. I’m callin’ about the truck. I’ll give you five hun’red over the askin’ price if ya still sellin’ it. Gimme a call.” [beep]

I sighed and turned off the phone. Maybe it would be warmer tomorrow.