Telephone Line
When I heard the phone ringing yesterday at 2:00, just as I was coming in the door after walking the dogs, I thought it would be one of my doggie people asking if I could take theirs out that evening. Or some such thing. I don't get many phone calls in the middle of a week day. It's too early for telemarketers, and my friends rarely phone me because they know the line will be busy because I'm online all day and so they email me instead.
It was Jack.
"Hey, you," he said, in his usual manner.
"Hi!" I replied, surprised but happy to hear his voice, and not suspecting that anything was wrong, even though he never calls me during the day unless something is. "How'd it go yesterday?"
Jack had had an important appointment the day before, and I knew he would call me the next day to tell me about it. It was only 11:00 his time, he sounded like he was on his cell phone, but he can be unpredictable, which is one of the things I like about him. Last summer, during the Olympics, he called and woke me up at 6:00 a.m. to tell me he was on his way to the airport because his employer, Big Ass American Software Company needed him to get his ass over to Greece and help the team there. Big Ass provided one of the backend systems for the official Olympics Web site.
He told me briefly about the appointment, then asked, "I guess you didn't get my message?"
"No, I just walked in the door when you called, so I hadn't checked for messages yet. Why, what happened?"
It takes me a while sometimes, but then, Gentle Reader, you already know how clueless I can be.
"A bomb went off in downtown San Francisco about an hour ago. I'm fine; everything's fine. I didn't want you to worry, if you heard about it."
"Oh my god, are you OK?" I said, instinctively, even though he just told me he was. I must have sounded like my grandmother who, every time she sees on the news something about a woman being attacked or killed in a car accident in Toronto, calls me to make sure it wasn't me.
"I'm fine. They're saying now that they think it was a gas explosion, but it happened right on the street where I was standing. I heard the thud. It sounded like a loud thud. Then glass blew out into the street, people started screaming and running away from the building. Then there was black smoke. I had been standing out on Kearny Street, talking on my cell, just about to go into a building for a meeting, when it happened. I had to call you right away, before the cellnet went down."
The cellnet didn't go down. As it turns out, it wasn't a terrorist attack. It wasn't a bomb at all. It didn't even make CNN's home page. It's just that it happened in the morning, on a beautiful, sunny summer day, in the downtown financial centre of one of the biggest cities in the United States...
After we hung up and Jack went back to work, I listened to the message he had left.
"Sass, it's Jack. I'm in downtown San Francisco and a bomb has just gone off in the financial district. I'm fine, though, and I'll call you when I get back to the office."
His voice was calm, but there was an audible undertone of shock. It was the way he stated the facts, just the facts, ma'am. The way he identified himself, and me. It was... unsettling.
I'm so glad I hadn't heard it before he reached me.
Jack was in Manhattan on September 11, 2001.
* * *
Next week, Postmodern Sass goes to Mississippi again. But no one knows, Hurricane Katrina is brewing.
It was Jack.
"Hey, you," he said, in his usual manner.
"Hi!" I replied, surprised but happy to hear his voice, and not suspecting that anything was wrong, even though he never calls me during the day unless something is. "How'd it go yesterday?"
Jack had had an important appointment the day before, and I knew he would call me the next day to tell me about it. It was only 11:00 his time, he sounded like he was on his cell phone, but he can be unpredictable, which is one of the things I like about him. Last summer, during the Olympics, he called and woke me up at 6:00 a.m. to tell me he was on his way to the airport because his employer, Big Ass American Software Company needed him to get his ass over to Greece and help the team there. Big Ass provided one of the backend systems for the official Olympics Web site.
He told me briefly about the appointment, then asked, "I guess you didn't get my message?"
"No, I just walked in the door when you called, so I hadn't checked for messages yet. Why, what happened?"
It takes me a while sometimes, but then, Gentle Reader, you already know how clueless I can be.
"A bomb went off in downtown San Francisco about an hour ago. I'm fine; everything's fine. I didn't want you to worry, if you heard about it."
"Oh my god, are you OK?" I said, instinctively, even though he just told me he was. I must have sounded like my grandmother who, every time she sees on the news something about a woman being attacked or killed in a car accident in Toronto, calls me to make sure it wasn't me.
"I'm fine. They're saying now that they think it was a gas explosion, but it happened right on the street where I was standing. I heard the thud. It sounded like a loud thud. Then glass blew out into the street, people started screaming and running away from the building. Then there was black smoke. I had been standing out on Kearny Street, talking on my cell, just about to go into a building for a meeting, when it happened. I had to call you right away, before the cellnet went down."
The cellnet didn't go down. As it turns out, it wasn't a terrorist attack. It wasn't a bomb at all. It didn't even make CNN's home page. It's just that it happened in the morning, on a beautiful, sunny summer day, in the downtown financial centre of one of the biggest cities in the United States...
After we hung up and Jack went back to work, I listened to the message he had left.
"Sass, it's Jack. I'm in downtown San Francisco and a bomb has just gone off in the financial district. I'm fine, though, and I'll call you when I get back to the office."
His voice was calm, but there was an audible undertone of shock. It was the way he stated the facts, just the facts, ma'am. The way he identified himself, and me. It was... unsettling.
I'm so glad I hadn't heard it before he reached me.
Jack was in Manhattan on September 11, 2001.
Next week, Postmodern Sass goes to Mississippi again. But no one knows, Hurricane Katrina is brewing.
Labels: Jack
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