How Fuel-ish!

Yesterday, my pocketbook was gone. The last time I saw it was when I was loading my groceries into the car at the Market Basket. But I’ve done this a thousand times and I’ve never forgotten my purse. How could I be so careless this time? It's not like me; it’s just not like me.

A panic was rising in me at the thought of a stranger going through my purse. The happy thief would be getting my $200 digital camera, my cell phone, my checkbook, my credit card, my social security card, not to mention my license and registration. The money was the least of it since I had just grocery shopped.

Like a mouse trapped in a maze, I went round and round the house, searching the same places again and again, hoping that it would magically appear, but it was all dead ends. I kept saying, It can’t be gone.  I fretted, half crying, and fussed, then resigned myself to the inevitable. It’s gone, all gone, now I have to act fast. 

I quickly called the credit card company and though the card had been gone for a day, no one ran up a charge on it. The card was closed out with a promise of a new one the next day. No one had used my cell phone and it was closed down, but now I would have to buy a new one. I went to the bank and closed my account and was issued a new one. Then they cautioned, "You'd better report the loss to the police," so when I got home, I took their advice and reported the loss to the local police. It was my last call of the day.

With all of this on my mind, I had to worry about the furnace guys coming first thing in the morning to clean my furnace. It had broken down several times so it was urgent that I get this done to insure steady heat for the soon-to-come cold weather.  I set the clock for 6:30am to turn off the furnace so it would be cool enough to work on, then went back to sleep. I didn’t reset the clock for 8:30 because the service rep at the fuel oil company said he’d call when his men were on their way.

I heard the phone ring, but by the time I awoke and got to the phone, they had hung up. I knew it had to be the Fuel Oil Company telling me they are on their way. Still groggy with sleep, I pressed Redial so I could get right back to the fuel company.  

The phone rang, and the minute I heard someone lift the receiver, I blurted out,  "Did you just call me?"

The man asked, "Who is this?"

"It's Ms. Joyner."

"Hang on, I’ll check."

He got back on the line, "No, I didn't call."

I was puzzled and insisted, "But you did call."

"Maybe it was one of the other guys, hang on," so he disappears for about three minutes, then gets back on the phone and says, "Nobody here called you."

I said, "But you did. It's right here on my caller ID. I'll read it to you on my other phone. It says "January 17. . . . this IS January 17, isn't it?"

"It is."

It says on my caller ID that you called January 17 at 8:24 am and your name is right here, Bolkema Fuel Oil Company."

There is a ten second pause, and the man says, "This is the police department."

It took another ten seconds for me to realize that when you press Redial, you get the last call you made, not the last call that came in. My last call was the police department  to report a lost pocketbook. When I realized what I put this police officer through, having him search the police station for the caller, it struck me so funny, I started laughing like a goat right in the policeman's ear.

After a courteous pause, a deep resonant baritone voice said, in a low, steady monotone, "Goodbye, Ms. Joyner." (Click)

I laughed all day. Even the oil company guys laughed when I told them.

By the way, after all of this confusion, I found my pocketbook. I have to blame the cats. Who else could have knocked it off the chair and pushed it under the desk and squashed as far back as it could go? It was just about the last place anyone would look for a pocketbook.