As I was crawling into bed at quarter of twelve tonight, my US cell phone began to ring. Seeing as the only person who calls that phone is my sister in Chicago (international calling rates are ridiculous, and her Mac won't work with Google Talk), I jumped out of bed to answer it, only to find a strange 205 number on the ID.
What the hell, I thought, answering. "Hello?"
"Hello," a young, female, distinctly southern voice replied. "My name is Jane Smith, and I'm a sophomore at Indian Springs School. Is Miss Laura Simpson available?"
"This is she, and this has to be quick, this is an international call."
"Oh." She seemed flustered. "I was calling to see if you might be able to give this year..."
"No, I'm sorry, I'm a grad student. I have no money."
The poor dear seemed confused by my flat refusal, but we parted amicably (and quickly), and I returned to my sudoku feeling slightly guilty. Then I ran the time difference and realized that my dear solicitor was calling at 5:45 CST.
Dinnertime, sweetheart? That's a no-no, and I don't care what they told you when you sold your soul to ISS.
With a lighter heart, I now return to bed. Jen, if you see this, don't call me for the next eight hours unless your funding for Africa comes through. That I care about.
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