I had an interview and I was running late. The dress I had planned on wearing did not fit right. Since I was at my mom and dad's house, my clothing options were limited. Mom tried to find me something appropriate to wear from her closet and from whatever clothing my sister had left behind. But no matter what I tried on--green satin party dress, sleeveless yellow dress, brown slacks of Wendy's with colorful stripes on them--nothing fit me.
I realized that I needed to call Christine W.--a client who had given me work in the past and who was now starting a new editing business--and tell her I would be late. I looked for her number but couldn't find it. I couldn't believe Mom had not written down Christine's number! Finally, I found a scrap of paper with some sort of musical notes on it. "Oh," Mom said, "that's her number. I wrote it down in code." What? I couldn't figure out why she'd do that, or what the code was. Mom finally decoded it for me, and I started to call the number.
It was a white phone with clear buttons, the kind you would have seen in the 70s sitting on a side table. I started punching in the numbers, but got one wrong. I tried again, and again, each time not quite able to get it right. Mom tried to help me, but I could not see the right numbers. Meanwhile, it was growing later and later, and in the pit of my stomach I knew there was no way I would make the interview.
Still, I kept punching at the numbers, getting them wrong each time. I looked down at the slip of paper and read the name of Christine's new editing business: Tempus Fugit Editing.