Danny McBride

Side
Streets
by
Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features

Unknown Name for Dinner

We live in constant fear of telemarketers. They interrupt dinner, bedtime, and sometimes even sleep. Caller I.D. has helped- no calls which come across as "Unknown name, Unknown Number" get an immediate pick-up at our home. Friends and family with blocked listings are forced to start talking into the dratted machine before we pick up when we are home. So last night, when the phone rang during dinner (as it happens to do three or four times an evening) I checked the caller I.D. The text read: Montgomery, Alabama" and had a listing. In my old, more trusting days, I would have immediately answered such a call. Calls listing a city and a phone number are usually cell phones- and could be one of numerous acquaintances or family. But here lately, the telemarketers had been getting sneaky and increasingly when I have picked up cell phone calls, I have been receiving the dreaded "Ees thees Mrs. Erb" (silent 'H' indicating these people have no idea how to say my last name). So last night, I stared at the phone a while, hesitated, and finally decided that it could be a business call for my husband. "Hello?" I answered. "Yes, may I speak to Raymond Herb?" The voice replied. Mouthing an "I'm sorry", I handed the phone to my hubby.

"Thanks a lot." He mouthed back to me, and then, out loud, said, "Yes?" into the mouthpiece.

About three seconds into his conversation with the "telemarketer" I realized that it was not the telemarketers come a callin' at all; but rather, Hollywood knocking on our door. As he spoke, it all came flooding back to me; the weekend in October when my husband and I took our three boys and two of my oldest son's friends on a lark to Montgomery, where they were casting a movie which was going to be filmed in the area. "I don't care about being in a movie." My husband, the introvert, said, as we lined up to get our pictures made, "but I know you would LOVE something like this." My son's friend Russ, who was staying with our family for the weekend while his family was out of town, had to pose with my husband for a picture- as a minor who had no parental permission (this was a LARK remember; we hadn't cleared his trying out for a film with his parents) my hubby had to sign for Russ. All this rushed back into my head as I sat there, listened in horror as he said, "No, I can't miss a week of work for the circus scene. Would you be interested in just Russ without me? I'll
have to have him call you."

And so there you have it. We called Russ's family, who were tickled pink that their boy (who had listed under "special talents": 'wearing glasses') was going to be a major Hollywood star. Kind of. He called my son back later that evening to give him the delicious details- he would be paid $5.50 an hour and was guaranteed at least 12 hour workdays for at least a week. "WOW!" My son enthused. "Dude! That's GREAT! You are going to be RICH!"

My head, however, was still reeling from the news that they had wanted Russ and Ray for the circus scene, not Kimra and assorted talented sons. My hubby, of the engineering trade, the man who had been the boy dreaming of flying in space had beat out the woman who as a girl had organized countless neighborhood productions which were played out in the neighbor's basement and attended by parents for the low, low cost of just
5¢ a ticket.

My son saw my angst. "Don't worry, Mom." He said. "This is the CIRCUS scene. Don't you get it? They were looking for circus freaks here." My husband shot him a look, and my son shot one back that seemed to say, "Don't sweat it; I am trying to comfort Mom here." "They will probably be calling you in weeks to come; probably when they are filming a more GLAMOROUS scene; something that they are saving just for you."

Ahhh, that's my boy. He himself should have been cast as the lead; so wiley is he at spinnin' the yarn when the moment calls for it. Still, I admit that I am going to be a little less scrupulous in monitoring my calls in weeks to come- what's wading through a few thousand "Ees thees Mrs. Erb?"s if it means that perhaps, just maybe, my big call from Hollywood won't get lost in the shuffle of credit card and aluminum siding offers coming in over the phone.