MY TEXTUAL ABNORMALITIES
Because I am so forgetful, when I think of something I need to remember and I’m in the car, the first thing I do is send myself a text. I hit the appropriate button on my steering wheel, and I hear a little chirp. Then I say, “SEND A TEXT TO DICK.”
BLUETOOTH: “What do you want to say to Dick?” spouts the technology.
ME: “Mail car insurance. Put out garbage.”
Now, I do this several times a day, and it’s pretty effective. As soon as I get home, I check my messages, and there are all the things I would probably forget to do if I hadn’t sent myself a note. I considered this method quite foolproof, but only a fool like me could mess it up.
We have a member of our church whose name is also Dick. I did not have him in my address book until recently. I added his name because I am part of a volunteer group that picks him up at his home on Sunday mornings. He decided at his age to stop driving.
Have you already figured out what happened? Yes, most of the messages I intended to send to myself were going to Dick Guernsey. (He told me to use his real name because he wanted to see his name in print.)
I began to realize there was a problem when I saw Dick at church, and he asked me why I thought he should pay my HOA fee this month. I thought this was a very odd thing to ask me, so I confided in a fellow Unitarian who told me that “Sometimes people your age, Dick, get a little confused. It’s normal.” The next day, I got this text message…
GUERNSEY: “Dick, it’s Dick Guernsey. Why do you want me to call your son?”
ME: “I don’t want you to call my son. I’m not sure what you are talking about.”
GUERNSEY: “Also, you texted me to buy a jar of artichokes and a pint of milk. I hate artichokes and I’m lactose intolerant. And why are you asking me to buy this stuff for you? You know I don’t drive.”
It still didn’t dawn on me what I had accidentally done.
The next day, Dick called me on his cell…
“Dick Wolfsie, this is Dick Guernsey. I’m starting to worry about you. I just got a text from you that says, ‘Don’t forget to call my brother in New York.’ I don’t know your brother in New York. The text also says to make an appointment for an oil change. I don’t have a car. That’s why you pick me up twice a month.”
The next day, I got another text from Guernsey asking why I thought he needed to have his gutters cleaned. “I don’t have to clean gutters,” he texted me. “In fact, I don’t have to do anything at this place except go down for dinner.”
I finally figured out why this was happening. I have changed my name to Bubba in my address book. So now I say, “ SEND A TEXT TO BUBBA.” If your name is Bubba, there is no chance we can ever be friends.