Red Phone

The phone rang – caller ID reporting the incoming call as “Red Line”.

You remember the old 1966 Batman television series, starring Adam West. Millionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne had this Red Phone in his study. Although it was a rotary phone (I think everything was rotary back then), it didn’t have a rotary dial on the top. This phone could receive calls only, not place them. It sat on a small oak pedestal, covered by a glass dome “cake cover” to reinforce it’s solemnity. It was the ultimate hotline, and just damn cool.

I don’t have a Red Phone. I don’t even have a Study that I could put a Red Phone in. Even if I did have a Study, I’m not a Millionaire Playboy (not for lacking interest, mind you), so I wouldn’t be allowed to spend a lot of leisure time in my Study waiting for the Red Phone to ring. Instead, I’m constantly on the go, with a Blackberry mobile phone on my hip. And quite frankly, I think I’d look pretty silly walking around with a glass dome cake over resting on my hip, covering the Blackberry on its belt holster.

So I guess I did the next best thing – I programmed the Blackberry to record every call coming in from work as “Red Line”. Calls from D come in as her Indian name “Stomps Around House Slamming Cupboard”. Calls from my Dad come in as “Dad”. Calls from my Stacy come in as “Baby Sis”. Calls from Her come in as “Only Desire” (sadly, these calls don’t come any more).

But last night’s call was from the “Red Line”. I always hate to receive this call, because inevitably it means I’ll spend the next 1-12 hours managing a crisis. But, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. I picked up the phone and joked, “Go ahead, Commissioner Gordan … this is Batman.”

It’s getting to be a pretty lame joke, they’re tired of hearing it, I know. But they didn’t groan, or laugh. In fact, I could barely hear the caller at all. I jacked the volume up, and faintly made out the sound of my boss’s voice, and some others in the background. I started shouting his name. “Jack. Jack! JACK!! J-A-C-K!!!!!!”

He couldn’t hear me, so I hung up. The “Red Line” rang again. Jack again, I must have been on auto callback. So being the voyeur that I am, I put the Blackberry on mute, and just listened. There’s a certain thrill of listening in on people’s private conversations. I wonder if cops on stake-out feel the same way, or government officials using CALEA to monitor calls. I was hoping for some juicy conversation that I could share in the office the next day – maybe accolades on what an outstanding performer that JP is in the office, or maybe my boss getting funky with his live-in girlfriend, Christine (who’s a hottie, btw). Or maybe news about the company being bought out, going IPO, or … anything.

Nope, nope and nope. Just talk about the truckers on I-89, and how the commute is horrendous, and zzzzzZZZZzzzzzz.

I’m not a very good voyeur, I confess, because I’m also terribly impatient. And the juicy stuff doesn’t happen within the confines of my limited attention span, I’m off on some other tangent and miss it completely.