I didn’t recognize the number appearing on my caller ID, but I answered my phone anyway. “Am I speaking to Kelly?” the caller asked.
After confirming that she was, indeed, speaking to the right person, she identified herself as head of a contest I had recently entered. The task was to design a logo for a newly-created community program. The winner would receive a cash prize and, of course, the satisfaction of seeing their creation in use around town.
Delighted, I felt little tremors of anticipation in my limbs and my mind begain to race. There’s only ONE reason she would be calling me! How much was that cash prize again?
“We REALLY liked your logo entry,” she gushed. “It was very unique!”
I blushed. I had actually been quite proud of it myself.
“We received so many LOVELY entries!” she continued. I began congratulating myself. Yeah, but you’re calling ME, lady, so mine must have been the BEST!
“We have such talented people in our town!” she carried on, as I smiled modestly at the phone receiver.
Her next words took a minute to sink in. “Unfortunately, we could only choose one winner, and we chose someone else’s entry. I’m calling all of the entrants today to let them know.”
WHAT?! So I didn’t win, after all. Okay, I’m a good sport. I don’t expect to win every contest I enter, or even MOST of them. But, this was certainly an unconventional way of letting down a “loser”. Whatever happened to a politely worded form letter?
After swallowing a gulp of disappointment, I thanked the woman for letting me know and started looking for humor in the situation. (It’s usually there somewhere, if you look hard enough.)
I began thinking about other times people didn’t stop to consider the impact their initial words can have on another’s emotions.
I once accompanied my husband to a youth camp, where he was to be camp nurse. Each student was supposed to have a medical release, which allowed my husband to treat their splinters, mosquito bites, and homesickness. One boy appeared at our cabin in the wee hours of the morning, complaining of a headache. Unable to find his medical release, my husband was forced to call the boy’s mother for permission to give him Tylenol. I realized hubby had reached an answering machine when I heard him say, “This is Andy’s camp nurse. Please call me as soon as possible.”
Horrified when I saw him about to hang up, I began jumping up and down and waving my arms around wildly. “Tell her he’s OKAY!” I insisted. “She’s going to WORRY!”
Since I was seven months pregnant at the time, my husband stared at my antics in disbelief for a moment. Finally comprehending my concern, he hurriedly turned back to the phone. “It’s a headache . . .” he managed to fit in before the answering machine cut him off.
I take credit for receiving a perfectly calm return call from Mrs. Andy’s Mother a few minutes later.
Working in a hospital emergency room, I often witnessed telephone calls made by patients receiving treatment for a cold or other minor illness that began something like this:
“Hi, Mom? This is Jill. Jack and I are here in the emergency room.”
In the interest of minding my own business, I had to restrain the impulse to jump up and down to get their attention. (I was almost always pregnant during those years, too.) I suspect a few of those calls were intentionally worded that way to provide a moment of drama for someone bored enough to seek treatment for a stubbed toe at 3 a.m. Most of the callers, though, just hadn’t stopped to think about the reaction of the person on the other end of the line. I am certain they stopped initiating phone conversations that way once they became parents themselves.
I have also been caught off guard due to things NOT said. Years ago, I reluctantly agreed to accompany a friend to an aerobic exercise class. Arriving at her home, I found the front door opened wide and a pool of blood on her front porch. Telltale spatters trailed to the street in front of her house, where her car was nowhere to be seen. No one answered my tentative knocks at her door.
This was pre-cellphone era so, greatly concerned, I hopped back into my car and drove to the nearest hospital E.R. I arrived just in time to see my friend’s husband help her back into their car, looking quite pale. Knowing the hospital wouldn’t tell me what had happened, I turned around and drove back to her house, where I learned she had cut her hand washing dishes and, “Boy, did it bleed a lot!” It was a very minor injury, requiring only a butterfly bandage. I quickly forgave her for worrying me because, after all, she was wounded and too panicked to think about leaving a note.
Besides, I had been looking for a good excuse to miss that exercise class.
