Midnight Texting

It was 1:38 in the morning and I woke up to the Seinfield theme music.  That’s the ring tone I have on my cell phone for text messages.  I rolled out of bed and followed the music towards the bedroom closet.  When I opened the door, a pair of my blue jeans was happily blinking.  It had been the final 80 degree day of the season and I’d celebrated by wearing jeans and I’d left my phone in a pocket when I hung them back up.  I fished it out and tiptoed into the office to read the text, assuming it was another piece of phone spam.  But it wasn’t.  It said: “Are you awake?

I didn’t recognize the phone number, but the area code was local, so I texted back: “I am now.

A few seconds later the reply, “Sorry,” showed up.

I figured that would end it, but as I was plugging the phone into its charger, another text showed up: “Since ur up I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.

I considered it for a moment or two, but decided it was probably too late for company.  I wrote back: “Who is this?

There was a little longer pause, but after a minute, the text came through: “Is this Jeff?

Now I understood.  ‘Jeff’ is an AC repairman and the guy who used to have my cell phone number.  Even after nearly three years, I still get calls from his friends and past customers.  My impression of Jeff is, if he’s this inept at letting people know his new phone number, I wouldn’t want him working on my air conditioner.

My thumbs tapped across the touch screen keyboard: “No, he doesn’t have this nbr anymore.  This is a retiree in Sun City.

An even longer pause followed and, just as I was getting up to go back to bed, the next text showed up.  It said, “I’m so sorry.

I wrote back, “That’s OK.  It’ll be a good story to tell my kids.  I hope ur not texting and driving.

After another pause, the reply, “I’m not now,” came through, followed by “Thx 4 being so understanding.  Gnight.

Nite,” I wrote.

As I crawled back into bed Bill mumbled “Who was on the phone?”

“It was for Jeff,” I said, yawning.  “But it was a good thing because I don’t think I would have found my cell phone until next winter.”

“I guess old Jeff’s good for something,” Bill whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

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