Under the Wire

It was 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon when the phone rang. It actually was the third time if had rang in the past 15 minutes. The first one was from the IRS informing me they wanted me to know they would be bringing charges against me soon unless I called and gave them the information they needed to dismiss my case, including address and, of course, social security number. Not so respectfully, I declined. The second was from my Congressman asking me how he was doing in Washington. Glad my Mother was not standing nearby as I left a probably not recorded message.

By the time the third call came in, I was getting more than a little annoyed. A call that came in on my cell from the mechanic working on one of our tractors with reference to $4,000 part did nothing to help my mood. Since the call now was coming in on one of our office lines, I answered with the usual, “Good afternoon, Hodgson Media.” A lady’s voice asked to speak to “Gay Hodgesooon.”

“He’s not here,” I told her, “But ironically, that is very similar to my name. What a coincidence! Would she mind talking to me instead?” Then, in a tone of voice most often heard when being notified of the death of a close relative, she began. “Sir, our records indicate you have been receiving copies of our magazine, ‘Farm Til You Drop’” (name changed to protect the stupid). Before she could continue, I interrupted her, “Ma’am, you sound so sad about me reading your magazine, would it make you feel better if I dropped my subscription?”

“Oh, no, “ she replied, “I’m sorry if I sounded sad, just a bit tired I guess. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“OK, go ahead, at least you are not a recording,” I offered.

“What’s your address?” was the first question.

“Ma’am,” trying to contain my sarcasm, “If you know I’m getting your magazine, how come you don’t have my address?”

“Well, sometimes people move,” was this rock star’s reply.

“Are you getting my copies returned to you as undeliverable?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” was her answer.

“What other questions do you have?” I pushed on, kind of liking the ridiculousness of the conversation.

“Can you describe any ag activities you might engage in?”

“Well, we run a few cows, put up some hay and write a column that appears in dozens of reputable publications who I’ll bet never mail to folks whose address they don’t have,” I informed her, “And by the way, I want to thank you for an idea for next week’s column. You made answering my phone fun again. Goodbye.”