Chasing the Wind

I have to get my car inspected, but that has almost nothing to do with the story.

Like a good little taxpayer, I reregistered both cars – my Maxima and my son’s Aurora. He’s heading off to college next month and I’ve been trying to do last minute training at turning him into a full-fledged adult, so I like to give him tasks to do that I used to do myself.

“Here, son,” I said, and handed him the registration sticker. “Go out to your car and replace the sticker. It’s already expired, so if a policeman pulls you over, you *will* get a ticket. Make sure you don’t pull off the inspection sticker by mistake.”

Then I took my registration sticker out to my car and pulled off the inspection sticker by mistake. I keep the little wads of the old inspection sticker in the front seat of my car to show a policeman if I get pulled over. “Look!” I’ll say. “You can see it used to say ‘SEP’ on it so it hasn’t expired yet.” I don’t expect that will get me out of a ticket, so I’m also practicing my Cowardly Lion impersonation and go for the laughs. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Silliness has never worked before when I’ve tried to get out of a ticket, but it might next time. And I keep reading that stupid definition of “insanity” – when you do the same thing over and over, expecting a different outcome – and it just…. ticks… me…. off. “If I…. were king… of the FO-R-R-R-R-EST!”

Where was I? Oh yeah, none of that has anything to do with the story. So I’m at work, digging through my Rolodex and looking for the phone number to the local auto fixit place. I can’t remember the name of the place, not that I would have filed it under the right letter anyway, so I have to flip through lots of business cards, flip past cards of business located in Singapore, past business cards of companies I deal with but the name of the company has been scratched out and replaced with whoever bought them, past my own business cards when I worked for somebody else, past some classified documents I suspect Sandy Berger put there inadvertently, past the Auto Tech business card… no wait, that’s the one I’m looking for. I call and they’re out of business. I told you it had nothing to do with the story. I’ll get my car reinspected on Friday elsewhere.

But I also find this card for Stephanie. She’s a Communications Manager for Enron, and her home phone number (in my handwriting) is on the back. And I have absolutely no recollection of this person.

I don’t do any work for Enron, so this is not a business-related card. And the number on the back sort of hints that it’s personal. Did I date her? Did I promise to call and misplace her card? IS SHE OK HOLY SMOKES SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN LAID OFF!!! I’m suddenly concerned about her welfare, but only if I dated her. If I didn’t date her, I probably don’t care as much.

I haven’t dated much in the last several years, but before that I was incorrigable. I dated everybody. The only reason I stopped is because I had to wait for more women to move into town, I had dated everybody else. Then I ran off to Singapore, and while I was gone, they all got married. I had to throw away my obsolete little black book. That’s how I know Stephanie is a relatively recent addition; probably since 2000. And I don’t remember her.

I did a brief tour of duty with “It’s Just Lunch” – fabulous introduction service, by the way – back in 2000. They introduced me to some very polite, professional women. If you liked each other on your date, you exchanged phone numbers. That might be where I got this card, except the phone number should be in her handwriting, not mine. Later that year I sort of went on dating hiatus. I picked up Oreo-eating for a hobby because, hey, I’m not dating anyway. Not enough women have moved into town anyway.

Stephanie was kind enough to give me her work phone number (which is probably disconnected) and her home number (which is unlisted and probably belongs to some hairy man named Rufus now). On one hand, I should throw the card away because it’s been at least 4 years. On the other hand, it might be fun to call: “Hi, Steph, it’s me, Michael. Look, I know I should have called earlier, but how’s the job going? I’ve been a little worried about you after that whole Enron-bankruptcy thingy a few years back. I thought maybe we could meet for dinner and get caught up. *pause* Michael. M-i-c-h-a-e-l. Are you still mad at me? I’ll swear off Oreos, I promise. Hello? Hello?”

I have her card taped to my monitor now while I decide what I want to do with it. Call? Toss? Tape it to a stall in the men’s bathroom and write “For a good time call” on it? I haven’t decided.