Unrequited

I hate talking on the phone. I avoid it at all costs, preferring email, instant messaging, cards, face-to-face talking, and smoke signals. I don’t know why or when my hate-affair with the telephone began. I have a feeling it was when I was a child, and my father would get upset if I didn’t answer the phone in a certain way. I also think that since I can’t see the person on the other end of the line I don’t know how to react to what they say. I guess I infer a lot through body posture and facial expression, and those are completely lost over the wire.

All of that being said, I try to spend as little time on the phone as possible. When I do talk on the phone, it’s with family or loved ones, and not for very long.

I needed new tires put on Adama, my Honda CB400T. None of the big shops around here will do the full job on a bike this old; I have to remove the wheels myself and bring them in. The shop will take the old tires off the wheels, then put the new shoes on and balance them. Since I don’t have any tire irons or a balancer, this seemed like an okay deal.

I was at work with all of my team members when I called the local Honda dealer yesterday afternoon. We all work in one room, all clustered around a few tables.

“Hey, can you [do all the shit I just typed out]?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Okay, can I just bring them by tomorrow morning and you get them back to me whenever?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, have a good day sir.”

“I love you too.”

I hung up.

Everyone was staring at me. “Ohmygod,” I said, “did I just tell that dude ‘I love you?'”

Bond and Jumbotron nodded and immediately bust out laughing.

Maybe I’ll just roll the four tires through the store front and haul ass. :