I was at my BFF Jolene’s house last night playing card games and chatting my face off when my mobile rang. The people who call me frequently have their own ring tones, so I was surprised to hear my general ring tone at almost 10pm at night.

“Who the fuck is phoning me?” I said, getting up and walking to my phone.

SIDENOTE: I know. I’m so welcoming of random phone calls.




Hello Bean

Then I heard it. Faintly, in the distance, and muffled by a ton of bizarre noise, a woman’s voice.


Oh my God! It looks so nice in here!” The woman on the other end of the phone squealed.

Only not to me.

I kept the phone to my ear and sat back down at Jo’s dining room table.

“Pocket phone call.” I said to her and her fiancee, Chris, “Amazing. Amazing.”

Then I set the phone down on the table, hit ‘mute,’ so no one could hear us, and put the call on speaker phone.

I wish I could tell you that we heard something scandalous. The most scandalous thing I heard was that whoever had pocket dialed me had arrived at some sort of get together with Guinness, whiskey tasters, and wine, which sounds like a deadly, deadly combination to me. Especially because she had just been eating some of her famous chili.

Mmm mmm good.

But I was completely transfixed.

“How long do you think it’ll last?” I asked.

“20 minutes! 20 minutes!” Chris cheered.

“This is the best night ever.” I sighed.

Unfortunately, the pocket dial only lasted five minutes. But despite the fact that nothing major happened, my night had, in fact, been made.

As a writer, I live off this stuff. Eavesdropping, people-watching, sneakily catching glimpses into people’s lives. It’s how I create.

Lesson learned: It’s the little things that get the writer in me crazy excited.


P.S. For the record, I often give back to the universe for letting me people-watch by giving other people bizarre, random experiences. Like today at the gym, when I started serenading Jolene while she was lifting weights and totally weirded out the guy bench pressing next to us. Or yesterday when I was standing too close to my front window wearing a sports bra with a towel wrapped around my head.

You’re welcome, people. You’re welcome.