DID YOU CALL?

When I returned home, I could in the semidarkness see my apartment mate lying on the floor in her room, chatting on the telephone, presumably with Wheelie Boy, her sort-of boyfriend. I don't think they've seen each other face to face in approximately a year now, but they are both Asperger, so they talk unseeing quite well. It's a peculiar relationship.

I am quite a bit more socially adept. And don't really phone converse particularly well. My Asperger lies elsewhere. Formulaic dexterity.

Which, of course, is why my best interactions in the past nearly five months have been with staff at the clinic. There is little randomness there.


"Hello Nurse Mak, you're going to take my bloodpressure?"

"Thank you, Nurse Mak. Still a tad too high?"


At my work I'm pretty good at faking it too.
And actually really enjoy the chit-chat.
In a limited field, I am an expert.

Repetition!


For my apartment mate, that really long extension cord is a blessing. It allows her some privacy while on the phone. The cord is nearly forty feet long. So in theory, except that I myself hardly ever use the thing, I could harass the world while reposing in my bed, and I prefer it right next to my chair in the teevee room, where both it and I normally sit.
I am the designated phone slammer downer.
The lady of the house is not in.
We do not have air-ducts.
No habla "survey".
Click.



Ironically, I call a toll-free number to pay my phone bill.




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