He said what?

It's the day before I leave for a week long vacation in Bonaire, and I've just switched on my "Out of Office" notice when I receive a phone call. I answer it the way I normally do at work: no frills, no "hello" or "how are you." I state the name of the firm for which I work. Usually, the person that's calling will tell me who he is or assume I can recognize him by voice and launch into a conversation about whatever issue is at hand. In this instance, the person on the other line sounds taken aback by my phone etiquette and hesitantly asks for me by name.

"Speaking," I reply. The caller isn't a client. He's an acquaintance whose social circle occasionally overlaps the peripheries of mine; a friend of a friend. For simplicity's sake, I'll call him "J." J has a question, and I jokingly feign an unwillingness to cooperate, "Question? I don't know... It'll cost ya'." Most people I know (clients included) understand this as an invitation to shoot the breeze. J does not, as he seems somewhat stumped at my response.

Then I remember that this is the same person that once diagnosed me with "low self-esteem" because I sarcastically referred to myself as "a monkey that pushes buttons," reprimanded me for "being down on yourself" when I commented on my poor English after telling of my immigrant beginnings in small-town South Carolina and told me that I must never again utter the word "irregardless" irregardless of the fact that I purposely use it because it is a fake word that many people -- Homer Simpson (yes, I realize he is not a real person), George W Bush, and average joe-schmoe -- do think is a real word.

After having hung out with him a few times, I realized that he couldn't relate to my brand of deadpan sarcasm. Nor would he ever understand that the words "low" and "self-esteem" spoken or written in close proximity have the odd effect of making me want to connect my thumbs together with both index fingers extended into a huge WHATEVER as I roll my eyes and try not to gag. As if. Then again, I'm certain I would never understand or relate to him at that level either, as he once told me that he had, and I quote, "a great sense of humor." Strange, but for as long as I've known him (in all fairness, a few months), there was nothing he said or did that I found close to mildly amusing.

Socially, we related by talking about "deep" and "meaningful" things like political or economic philosophy, his love of trains/ferries/bridges/New York, relationships, our jobs and how much we love or hate them, yada yada. Hey, I can sit around and shoot the I-don't-watch-television-and-only-read-the-New-York-Times-and-New-Yorker intellectual angst (or snobbery depending on your viewpoint) as much as the next new-england-liberal-arts-educated-double-major-in-government-and-economics-with-a-minor-in-international-affairs-and-an-somewhat-academic-focus-on-political-and-economic-theory-slash-philosophy-that-graduated-cum-laude-with-a-bachelor-of-arts-in-bullshit, but I'll admit that I find it boring and exhausting to be "deep." It's hard to explain, but it's the same reason why I decided not to become an English major: too much drama.

I'll even be the first to point out that I'm shallow and superficial. While there's a time and place for everything and it's good to think about big picture issues, I don't always want to sit around thinking and talking about the meaning of life, etc. Things happen and life goes on no matter what. Shit happens to everyone, and most of the time, there isn't a reason why, no greater purpose or deeper meaning. There is nothing to be gained by trying to find meaning where there isn't any or by over thinking or over analyzing a situation. If time is going to be spent talking about those issues, then it's equally important to spend time talking about practical solutions. Otherwise, I'd rather spend my time with friends and family, hearing or telling amusing stories, talking about this week's episode of Heroes or Gray's Anatomy, eating or going drinking. Besides, if I have issues or concerns, I'd share them with my close friends (yeah, you) -- people that understand my sense of humor and sarcasm even if they can't always tell if I'm joking or not.

I prod him to get to the point, "Okay, J. What's the question?"

"Well, I...uh...heard that [insert my firm's name here] and [insert the name of one of my firm's competitors] have come out with...uh...research showing [potentially confidential client information]. We, [the firm where J works], hear that a lot of your clients are mad about this and are pulling their business." I realize that this is not a friendly hope-you-have-a-great-vacation call. J happens to be a reporter for a major news agency.

Um, wow. What the fuck? Then, I do what I always do when I'm mad -- I become extremely polite but distant. I refuse to cooperate. I mean, I understand what J is asking, but if the man is going to ask a question, he should at least have some balls and ask the question, "Gee, doesn't sound like a question at all. Sounds more like a statement to me."

The conversation lapses into an awkward silence for a few seconds. I am very comfortable in uncomfortable silences, especially when I'm pissed. More hemming and hawing before J says, "Well, I guess...uh...I was...um...wondering what your thoughts are on that."

"You should know better than to call me about this." In my line of business, protecting the firm's reputation and client confidentiality is a HUGE deal. And, this isn't just specific to my industry; it's a big deal everywhere in corporate America. The fact that a reporter is calling me for information or a comment about something he views to be controversial could be grounds for my dismal. If anything I say ends up in the news, I would lose my job even if it were said in passing, taken out of context, or merely overheard on the subway.

"Well, I'm a reporter, so I have to do my duty and cover all sources," he responds.

Every reporter knows that my firm has a press office that handles all press inquiries, and none of them should ever call employees outside that office for comments. I say as much,"If you are doing your job as a reporter, you should call the press office."

"Yeah, but they wouldn't have told me anything anyway, so why bother." Oh, the official press office won't comment, so he thinks I will instead. If I had doubts before, I certainly don't now. He's an asshole, and this could cost me my job.

In a saccharine sweet voice, I ask, "Can you do me a favor? Can you please throw away my business card?" B has observed that I never raise my voice. When I am angry or annoyed, my voice becomes cute, soft and dangerously sweet; since I am none of those adjectives, it serves the same purpose as if I were to throw a screaming fit.

"You never gave me your business card." As always, the sarcasm is lost on J, but this time he's just playing dumb.

"Well, how did you get this number?" I ask, voice like molasses.

"I took it off your email signature."

"Oh, then please get rid of all my contact information." He treats my response like a joke, but it isn't, and I tell him as much. What I really want to say, and what I really think is DON'T EVER FUCKING CALL ME AGAIN AT WORK YOU ASSHOLE.

The conversation has deteriorated, and my hostile tone becomes evident to even the most obtuse. J tries to salvage the conversation by turning it into a social call, "So, you're leaving tomorrow for Bonaire? I'll talk to you when you get back." In case I hadn't made it clear before, the guy's an asshole.

"Bye," I say and hang up.

There you have it. Another episode of "He said what?" Can you believe it?!?