Messages
My American cell phone has lain dead for the last ten months. Somehow the charger got lost.
A couple of days ago, I bought a replacement cord and managed to turn on the phone. Seven new messages.
Four of the seven were from the Aveda salon in SoHo, where I’ve lent my services as a guinea pig for stylists-in-training in the past.
A fifth was in spanish, from what sounds like an elderly man. A wrong number, most likely.
Two were from an events company. During some event I’d attended last summer, I’d submitted my name for a sweepstakes in which one could win a romantic cruise for two to the Bahamas (departing Fort Lauterdale).
Well. I won. I won the romantic cruise to the Bahamas. If they’d only left one message, I’d think it was a hoax orchestrated to sell me magazine subscriptions or something…but the second, much more somber message was almost like a sick challenge:
"Ms. Steier, we’re a bit confused because our records show you haven’t called to claim the romantic cruise you won during out grand prize drawing. Please call us at your earliest convenience."
I was too far away. I missed the call. I lost the romantic cruise.
It’s too late already, you see.
