The Calling Card (Part 2)

In 1997 nobody has a cell phone. Dark days. If you want to talk to someone you have to wait until you’re either at home or at work to make a call, or you can use public pay phones. I’ve always been disgusted by pay phones, so usually I just wait to talk. But when alcohol’s involved and I need to drunk dial while at a bar, suddenly the bar pay phone isn’t gross.

The calling cards are supposed to be used so that you can call clients while in your territory. My territory is two Manhattan blocks. It’s 31st and 32nd street on the west side. This is known as Korea Town. Most of the time, I’m getting kicked out of buildings or hung up on by Korean business owners.

A typical phone call usually results in me hearing,“Nobody here, nobody here” or “no call no more, no call no more.” My calling card would now allow me to hear these delightful phrases while using a filthy, disgusting pay phone in the middle of a blizzard or during a heat wave. Wonderful, right?

I decided not to use the calling card for work, but instead to use it for play. The calling card number was immediately dispersed to all my friends so we could drunk dial or call each other while out at night. My cousin had moved to Hawaii, and I was calling her there. I had given the calling card out to about 10 friends. I guess I underestimated the amount of drunk dialing, bar calling and Hawaii connections that had been made in one month, and all that had equaled $780.

Crazy worried about what to do, I realize there is a way out of this. In a word: Megan. The most duplicitous, most conniving, most underhanded mind I could ever have the good fortune of knowing. I have access to Megan and if anyone can get me out of this jam, it’s her.

Megan is the best liar. Period. Bar none. Impossible to find someone better. She has talked her way out of thousands of obligations, and

I was often there to watch, always amazed at this master of chicanery. It’s too bad she isn’t interested in politics.

I call Megan right away. She laughs at the situation, and tells me not to worry. She has a system. She tells me to grab a beer and wait by the phone. An hour later, the phone rings. It’s Her.

She says she thought of every possible excuse, but based on everything she knows about what they had on me, the only solution is to tell U.W. that I thought the calling card was a perk. She claims there is nothing he can say back. This is what my duplicitous, conniving, underhanded friend has come up with? I yell at her for smoking pot before she

tackled my problem. This is her system? She swears up and down she had waited to smoke.

If she could slap me through the phone she would. Who am I to doubt her? This girl has talked her way out of everything her entire life. It’s like she’s a guy. “You’re going in there tomorrow, and you’re saying you thought it was a perk. Trust me. It can’t fail.” This is it. The end of the road. No turning back. The last stop before hell.

Then Megan decides to give me one more piece of advice. She says, “Whatever you do, make sure you stick with your lie. No matter what happens, just continue to say the same thing. Stick with your lie.” Truer words have never been said. Sometimes you just have to lie. And when you lie, you need to stick with it. It’s the only way.

TO BE CONTINUED...