Disclaimer: to protect the identity of those involved in the story, all the names wer
Many moons ago, an unusual thing happened to me.
I got a call from a girl (if you are not surprised by now, keep reading). Her voice was unknown to me, so were her intentions. The conversation started with a standard exchange of "Hello" and "Hello back", "What's up?" and "The sky". I realized that the caller was someone I did not know, not a friend who was just fooling around.
The conversation took a path that I do not remember exactly. It wasn't personal [not about relationships], nor was it absolutely impersonal, so I prefer to call it "personalish". That is, a very light version of "personal", something you do when you're just getting to know someone. Not too warm, but not as cold as asking a random stranger "Which year is this?" or "What is the name of the planet we're on?".
I could hear another voice in the background, another girl giving hints to her friend, the misterious caller. "Hmmmm", I thought.
The conversation took an unexpected turn. She asked me if I had "Macromedia Flash 5" :-)
Allow me put things into perspective - this was happening in an era in which the Internet was not ubiquitous, at least not in these parts. Heck, even computers were rare; only a handful of people in my class had one. In contrast, today even my neighbor's cat has a blog, and stray dogs coordinate their actions via #eatcyclists on Twitter; but I digress...
Internet was expensive and slow, downloading files was a pain because connections were unreliable. Advanced people used browsers that could be configured not to load images, they also used download managers to squeeze everything out of a dial-up connection, but it still took time to send a byte from point A to point B. The bit-torrent protocol was not born yet. A boy's dream was not "unlimited traffic and a great bandwidth", it was "unlimited callback".
I told her I didn't have it, but I would ask around and find it for her.
Looking back at that conversation, I cannot recall all the details. Maybe I was too dumb to ask her phone number, or maybe I did find the courage to do so, but she said "No, I'll call you tomorrow". Maybe I did ask her name, but she refused to tell me? Or maybe she did - and her name was Aliona or Alina? Certainly, it ended with an 'a'.
She never called me back.
Moral of the story:
- since then I make sure the home phones have caller-ID;
- I always keep a fresh copy of "Macromedia Flash 5", just in case.
Comment from: m [Visitor]
that goat cracks me up every time! and the Russian version is pretty neat..
i wonder if deduction warrants a theory here. could it be that the old guy who keeps that rusty tricycle in his backyard once received a call from a damsel in distress asking if he happened to have a rusty tricycle, and he didn’t? maybe it could explain the assortment of junk in my friend’s handbag, too))
Comment from: gr8dude [Member]
I think you’ve just uncovered one of history’s greatest mysteries :-)
There must be some sort of a mythical girl who keeps calling people and asking for things, that’s why some of us begin to pile stuff up.
Or maybe a mountain witch put a spell on us 37 years agoooo, and since then we have to pile stuff up :-)
When you’re piling stuff up,
you have to live aloooone,
that’s why I’ve made this
pile of junk - my hoooome..
I got bikes that have a broken wheel,
and bikes that have just three,
I got old and rusty tricycles,
I’m riding them with glee!
Weeb-dub-deeb-dab deeb-a dub-a-dooo
I got bikes I ride on weekends,
I got bikes I ride all day,
I got bikes to ride my other bikes
and bikes I ride on sleighs…
Aaa’b dee dub dub dooo dub dub daaay..
I wonder.. what kind of a sick girl would ask for a rusty tricycle? :-)
Comment from: m [Visitor]
)) you’re good! for the third time in two days i can’t find a matching response for you.
yes, the mythical girl…somebody should write that short story…
as for the sick girl, i nominate myself (no offense taken). i was dying to ask for that bike but didn’t have the guts to. i wonder if there’s a myth to account for that indecision. with myths, the sky’s the limit.
and again we’re brushing the trauma topic.
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