Jack-call

So here I am yesterday (Thursday, August 21, 2008) motoring blithely south on Hopkins Road.
Hopkins Road would be a great motorcycle road, except I’m delivering excess vegetables to Joy Daggett, which I can’t do on a motorbike.
Joy Daggett and I used to work at the mighty Mezz — in fact, Joy is the lady that hired me, a giant stretch to hire a stroke-survivor who was still quite messed up back then.
I used to always unload excess produce from our garden on fellow Messenger employees.
And now even though I’m retired, I still do.
The mighty Mezz is on the way to the Canandaigua YMCA, so that’s a visit.
So is Joy, who like me is now retired.
Although somewhat roundabout; about five extra miles — but worth the jawing.
She lives out in the outback, but more-or-less in the direction of Canandaigua.
I was headed to Canandaigua for an annual eye-checkup at the Eye Center.
I have to say that lest the worry-warts think my vision has tanked — which it hasn’t.
The retina repair last fall (laser) looked fine.
So here I am motoring in our CR-V, and my cellphone, which is in my jacket-pocket, fires off.
I’m not answerin’! I tried to both drive and operate my cellphone at the same time last week.
NEVER AGAIN! —Maybe a fevered blowhard can do it, but not a stroke-survivor. I was wanderin’ all over the road.
“Was that you?” I ask Joy.
I fire up my incoming missed calls. It says it’s Jack.
Oh, for cryin’ out loud!
He left a message.
I access my voicemail, and it’s the usual turgid blustering and boring put-downs.
“This guy badmouths everything I do or say,” I tell Joy.
“To delete this message, press seven.”
BAM!
He was saying something about my “needing” to guess where he was.
Well hellooooooo. I ain’t one of his contractors.
I don’t “need” to do anything.
Deafening silence. A long pregnant hum. Then a staticy horn-blow or something. Then back to the hum.
Five minutes of hum proceeded by noisesome yammering.

“Jack” (the “fevered blowhard”) is my all-knowing brother-in-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say.

The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over two years ago. Best job I ever had.

I had a stroke October 26, 1993.

I work out in the exercise-gym at the “Canandaigua YMCA.”

RE: “Worry-warts.....” —All my siblings go ballistic if I visit a medical establishment. E.g. a while ago I visited a skin-doctor for a checkup. “What was the problem?” they all screamed. (No problem — just a checkup.)

“The CR-V” is our 2003 Honda CR-V SUV.

RE: “Contractors.....” —My brother-in-Boston is a construction supervisor.