The little
green light on my office's extension blinks on and off.
"Body shop, this is Laura."
Laura?
"Yes."
Happy Birthday.
"Thank you. Who are you?"
Douglas Coupland.
"Come on. Who is this?"
A friend told me I should call you.
"No way. Get out of here. Who is this, really?"
Have a good day, Laura. Good bye
Then the world of analysis begins. I think only a handful of people who know me have my personal extension at work, and while all of them may know who Douglas Coupland is, only one of them is as much if not more a fan of Coupland fan than I am. He's also the only person I know who would even think to do this, the only person who could have found a way.
HIM: Sorry I was on "away" for so long. And now I'm running out of the door to get my ride.
ME: Do you know anything about this?
HIM: I might.
ME: Was it really him?
HIM: Yes it was.
ME: How did you do that???
HIM: I gotta go. See you soon.
Sneaky bastard.
That's when I started crying. I obviously didn't believe it was him, and even though I couldn't have avoided it when I was talking to him, I of course now had regrets. I also kicked myself for not asking him who was the friend who told him to call. I wasn't sad. I was just really really touched. Even if it was a fluke, it was a fluke done for me. It was the strangest, best gift I think I've ever gotten, because it was the most personal, the most impressive, the best indication that someone knew me better than I had given him credit for, even if all he did was use his ability to get an obscure favor from a famous author. I didn't want to be this affected by it. For my best friend Sandi, this was only the third time in the two years I've known her that she has seen me cry, and it was the first time that I can remember that I cried because I wasn't sad.
So thanks, friend. You definitely blew my mind, once again.