10-A Man with no Purpose

It was Sunday night, time for our weekly “dinnerpy,” but on this night, we all agreed to meet at Mary and Williams’ apartment. The Academy Awards were on, and Mary and William’s apartment was the most comfortable place to watch it. They had the largest living room, a 36-inch plasma television and a large sectional couch that seated eight comfortably.

It was still an hour before the Academy Awards pre-show and Charley and Nicky hadn’t yet arrived. Mary and I were chatting in the kitchen, making guacamole dip, while William was –where else-- sitting on the couch, watching a basketball game when the phone rang. William turned toward the kitchen to see if Mary would pick it up. After she ignored the ringing, William got up to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Hey, William, it’s James again, Mark Simon’s friend.”

It was the same guy trying to reach the neighbor. For the last five days, the man had called William everyday and asked him to leave a note on his neighbor’s door. Each time, William obliged.

“Hey Jimmy, my man. Did Simon ever call you back?” William had a beer in his hand.

“No, he never called me back, and that’s completely unlike him. You’ve been extremely helpful, but can you do me one last favor?” The caller asked.

William took a drink of his Corona.

“Of course, we’re buds now, or shall I say Coronas.” William lifted his Corona bottle in a toast.

“Do you have a cordless phone?”

“Sure,” William said.

“Do you mind knocking on your neighbor’s door, and handing him your phone? You could be saving a friendship here.”

“No worries, that’s what friends are for,” William said, mimicking the song. He walked over to the door.

In the hallway, William gently knocked on the neighbor’s door, with his cordless phone in hand. A man’s voice from the other side of the door said he was on his way over.

The neighbor, Mark Simon, was a big guy, well over 6’3.” He opened the door in his boxers and t-shirt, holding a bag of potato chips. William reached out to shake his hand in a friendly way.

“Hi, I’m William, your neighbor. I have James on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

William handed the phone to his neighbor.

“Will you tell those freaken bill collectors to quit harassing me? I’m not going to pay them for CDs I bought when I was 11 years old.”

The neighbor slammed the door on William’s face. William looked at the phone in his hand and raised it slowly to his ear.

“Are you a bill a collector?” William asked as he walked back to his apartment.

“Yes, I am,” the voice replied, in a casual manner.

“You freaken idiot. You lied to me,” William’s voice was growing louder.

“Look man, I’m just doing my job. He owes us $23 dollars.”

“Twenty-three dollars? Write it off for Christ’s sake. You’re spending more on long distance calls. Now quit freaken calling me,” William said.

When William walked into the kitchen, Mary and I stopped talking and started listening.

“Dumbass,” came the voice on the other end of the line.

Oh, no he didn’t call me that, William thought. William wanted to hang up the phone, instead he said calmly, “What did you say?”

“I called you a dumbass, you got a problem with that?”

William bit his bottom lip.

“Let me talk to your supervisor.”

“No.”

“I said, let me talk to your fuckin’ supervisor.” William clearly annunciated the words, like it would make a difference.

“No.”

William took a drink of his Corona.

“Alright, you’re wasting my time,” the caller said. “I’m about to take my dinner break. But don’t worry. I’ll call you tomorrow, dumbass.” The caller hung up. William looked down at his phone. Mary and I didn’t say a word.

“You didn’t just do that to me,” William said to the phone. He stampeded to the kitchen table and picked up the notepad. He dialed the 800-number that was written on it. The same voice answered in a friendly voice.

“Hello, James speaking.”

“James, don’t you ever hang up on me again,” William scolded the caller, like he was a child.

“Look Willy, I’m eating dinner. Leave me alone.” He hung up on William.

By now, the suspense had gotten to Mary.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“It’s a telemarketer, telling me not to call him during dinner.”

William hit redial.

“This is James.”

“You freakin idiot. The last thing you want to do is piss off an unemployed guy who has no purpose in life. I’m reporting you to the Federal Trade Commission.” William was shouting at the phone.

“Oh, you scare me, Willy Wonka, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Should I run for the border?”

The man took a bite of something crunchy. He talked with food in his mouth.

“I’ll tell you what, Fuck Face,” the caller said. “I’ll give you the damn number myself to the FTC. It’s 800-go-fuck-yourself. You got that? Or should I repeat it for the slow dwarf. It’s 800-GO-FUCK-YOURSELF.”

But the guy didn’t hang up. He was taunting William, and reveling in it. The voice stayed silent, waiting for a rebuttal. Frustrated, William slammed the phone down, and walked into the bedroom with his hands in the air.

Mary looked at me and said, “We really need to find him a job soon.”