Sometimes I am “that guy”.
It might be something I did. It might be something I said. But sometimes, I am just a bonehead.
Ok. Truth be told, OFTEN times, I’m a bonehead.
If you are reading this and you’ve spent time at our FATASTIC cottage at the beach, then you’ll understand the story I am about to relate. If you are not aware of my cottage at the beach, I’ll spend a small bit of time with backstory.
It was the only single unit house/cottage left on the beach in Ocean City, between 121st and 122nd street. And when I say it was “on the beach”, I do mean it was “on the beach”. When you stepped off of the porch steps you were on the beach. I can vividly recall once when I was little and there was a pretty big storm, we were getting wet from the breaking of the waves standing on the porch.
Inside the cottage was a big living room with 4 very old and very big rockers. They would sit in a semi-circle and there was a couch and 2 chairs across from them, so many people would sit around in this circle and socialize and carry on. Or we’d pull up a card table in the middle and play cards. Or perhaps we’d play a drinking game, but that’s for another post.
Well, one such occasion we were just sitting around talking. It had been a pretty heavy night of drinking the night before and we had all been at the beach and showered and/or napped and we were trying to decide what to do about dinner. It’s hard for 15-20 people (including children) to come to an agreement about what to eat for dinner and no one wanted to cook, so various things were ordered.
Me, I decided to order myself some Chinese. I went into the junk drawer and found the menu for #1 Chinese Restaurant.
*sidenote 1 – what makes it #1? Is it the quality of food, or is it the 1st one you see? And what if you’re the 2nd one? Do you call yourself “#2 Chinese Restaurant”?
*sidenote 2 – “junk drawer”, every house has one. It might have misc. keys, matches, assorted pens and pencils, and of course, takeout menus.
I’m guessing the year was maybe 2004 or so, so it was before cell phones completely took over the world, and I got on the phone to place my order. I think I ordered Shrimp Fried Rice and a Shrimp Eggroll. If I had to guess a number for the items on the menu, it was #5 for the eggroll and maybe #37 for the Shrimp Fried Rice.
Now, I have flaws. I have many flaws. One of my numerous flaws is I am bad at deciphering what a person with an accent says on the phone. Normally not a big deal. Based on what the conversation is about, I can determine what the person on the other end is saying. But this time – I could not.
I placed my order, and the man on the other end repeated it back, and it sounded like my order. But at the end, we clearly said, “You pick a number, 11”.
To which I responded, “No, I wanted a #5 and a #37.”
But he responded again, “No, you pick a number, 11.”
So I quickly consulted the menu in my hand. Had I gotten my number wrong? I confirmed I had not, so I responded back, very politely, “No, I wanted a #5 and a #37.”
Ok. So the guy on the other end was beginning to get a bit annoyed and again he said, “No, you pick a number 11!”
SO I kind of put the phone down, cupping the mouthpiece in my hands so he couldn’t hear my conversation and I looked around at my friends who were staring at me, as they could hear my entire conversation, “So he’s telling me to pick a number, but then he tells me what number to pick.”
By now, I too am annoyed, and I was, still polite, but a bit forceful, “I don’t want a #11, I would like a #5 and a #37.”
Okay. This poor guy on the other end was now no longer just annoyed. He was now being very forceful in his delivery. “No, you pick a number 11!”.
By now, my friends around me, hearing the entire conversation are kind of giggling and laughing. I, of course, assumed they were in full agreement with me and laughing “with” me in the absurdity of the situation. So I again put the phone down, cupping the mouth piece and say, “He’s telling my to pick a number, and then tells me to pick 11. Does his mom work in the back and her specialty is this #11? Is he that proud of it? Or does he get commission based on how many #11 he sells?”
I honestly am getting quite annoyed. My friends are really now laughing in my bewilderment. I am just about to get back on the phone to once again reiterate, “I want a #5 and a #37”, when one of my friends tells me: “Jim, he’s telling you, ‘your pickup # is 11’”
OOOOHHHHHHHH
Ok, that makes sense.
So I sheepishly pick up the phone and tell the man, “ok, my pickup # is 11.”
I did drive across the highway to pick up my Chinese from #1 Chinese Restaurant and when I walked in, no one was at the counter. I walked up and quietly told the lady at the counter, “I have a pick up, #11”.
What a bonehead.
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