There have been times when my crank calls have gone terribly wrong. Those are stories for another day, but suffice it to say I haven’t learned my lesson. Crank calling Brantley at work is one of my favorite pass times, and some would argue (ok, just me) that it’s a legitimate hobby. When crank calling gets recognized as an Olympic sport I will wave my gold medallion in your faces.
The art of CC’ing requires a good bit of work. There are disguised voices involved, not to mention the back story and the slightly ridiculous request or complaint I will call with. Up to ten minutes can be spent at one time just to get lucky enough for Brantley to answer the phone. When I hear the voice on the other line say, “This is Brantley. May I help you?” that’s when I pounce.
The following conversation occurred two days ago.
Brantley- “This is Brantley. May I help you?”
Redneck lady- “You sure may. This is Eunice Petty. Do you all sell Massengill?”
Brantley- “Only by the gallon.”
At that point the line went dead and I can only assume that he hung up. We haven’t had a chance to discuss it since then, but I’m fairly certain he knew it was me. I will spend some time this week cultivating my character a bit more. Perhaps she wears a hat, or sounds a little more downtrodden. One thing is certain, and that is Eunice Irene Petty better be receiving her gallons worth of feminine care.