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lost in phonespace
May. 11th, 2004 06:22 pmI lost my phone on Sunday night, somewhere between the restaurant I was at with the Zokutou people and the bus home. This isn't as annoying as it could be - I've got a new one on the insurance already and I had all my numbers written down. But I needed an alarm clock, so I dug out my old mostly-knackered handset and turned it on for the first time in maybe six months.
"Answer Phone message," it said.
This was very strange. I hadn't used that number in a year. I couldn't think of anyone who'd be likely to phone me who would have that number and not my new one. I rang up voicemail, a little nervous, thinking about people I've lost touch with.
The message was left on Saturday. "Hello," said a deep, unfamiliar, kind Scottish voice, "this is Sam, just wondering how you are today. I phoned up [inaudible] but I couldn't get the message out of him. Probably drunk in bed. Anyway [he hesitates] we're meeting at ten-thirty at [Bar Code?] on [George the Fourth Bridge?]. Give me a call when you get this message. 'Bye."
Sam hadn't left a number. Poor Sam. I hope he didn't think she (I presume it was a she) was avoiding him, and that they managed to sort out their communications blip and have their drinks together in Bar Code, wherever it is, looking at pretty lights bobbing in some river.
*
(Edit: Google is your friend, and it seems I was wrong about almost everything. There's no river: George IV Bridge is that lovely elevated street in Edinburgh. It has a Bar Kohl, which is a gay bar, so it's probably not a she.
I love the internet.)
"Answer Phone message," it said.
This was very strange. I hadn't used that number in a year. I couldn't think of anyone who'd be likely to phone me who would have that number and not my new one. I rang up voicemail, a little nervous, thinking about people I've lost touch with.
The message was left on Saturday. "Hello," said a deep, unfamiliar, kind Scottish voice, "this is Sam, just wondering how you are today. I phoned up [inaudible] but I couldn't get the message out of him. Probably drunk in bed. Anyway [he hesitates] we're meeting at ten-thirty at [Bar Code?] on [George the Fourth Bridge?]. Give me a call when you get this message. 'Bye."
Sam hadn't left a number. Poor Sam. I hope he didn't think she (I presume it was a she) was avoiding him, and that they managed to sort out their communications blip and have their drinks together in Bar Code, wherever it is, looking at pretty lights bobbing in some river.
*
(Edit: Google is your friend, and it seems I was wrong about almost everything. There's no river: George IV Bridge is that lovely elevated street in Edinburgh. It has a Bar Kohl, which is a gay bar, so it's probably not a she.
I love the internet.)
