“First Church of Pretty Big City. Please listen carefully, our menu may have changed. For a directory of church personnel, please push ‘1’. For a calendar of events, push ‘2’. To register a prayer request, please push ‘3’. For a . . . .”
“Welcome to the First Church of Pretty Big City telephone directory. Please enter the first three letters of the last name of the person you wish to reach.”
“You have indicated you wish to talk to … the voice changed to that of the parson’s old friend … Dr. I. M. Portant. If this is correct, please press the pound key.”
The parson pulled his phone away from his ear, moved his head up and down to bring his bifocals into alignment and pressed the key.
“Dr. I. M. Portant’s office,” said the pleasant female voice.
“Hello. Sorry about that. I wasn’t sure if you were a real person.”
The parson paused. Then with a smile on his face, he replied, “No, you can’t.”
“You asked me if you could tell the pastor whose calling. You can’t.”
“Do you mean ‘ours’ as in the Administrative Board or ‘ours’ as in you and the pastor?”
“Well, of course, it matters. If it’s the Administrative Board I’m stuck. If it’s you and the pastor, you have the power to change the policy.”
“I may be calling to confess to the pastor some dark, unspeakable, sin I’ve committed. And I wouldn’t want you know who I was.”
“But don’t you run into the church folks during your normal day?”
“Because the bishop would just have said, ‘This is the bishop. Let me talk to Dr. Portant.’”
“Sir, I’ve got work to do. Can I tell Dr. Portant whose calling?”
“You have reached the voice mail of Dr. I. M. Portant. I can’t take your call just now, but leave a message and someone will get back to you.”
“Ira! Can she tell you whose calling, my ass. Listen I called to ask if you wanted to go to the game this Saturday with Jim and me. I’ve got tickets on the fifty yard line. Call and let me know either way. If you can go push ‘1’; if you can’t push ‘2’. And if you don’t leave me a message on what number to call to bypass all your big city church phone system crap, I’m going to tell Mary about that night at Pfeiffer College when you sneaked into the senior girls’ dorm.”
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