Next time, it’s going to voicemail
Friday evening the babysitter arrived and I am waiting for Stew to get ready. We are to meet another couple out for dinner. While sitting with the sitter, a commercial for one of the local casinos is on television. It reminds me of when Ding-a-ling won over $250k on a slot machine. I tell the sitter the story and just as I finish, my cell phone rings. It’s Ding-a-ling. Against my better judgment, I answer the phone.
Me: Hey
Ding-a-ling: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: I’m about to go to dinner. What are you doing?
Ding-a-ling: I’m about to go to jail?
Me: What? What happened?
She begins to tell me her white-trash saga about running across a former co-worker who got her fired at her last job. They crossed paths at Wal-Mart , of all places….classic. Apparently the former co-worker, Julie, tried telling her that she wasn’t to blame for the firing, Ding-a-ling told her to F$#k off and to get the f$#k out of her face. Which, I understand, however, her 6 year-old daughter was with her. Someone with a tiny drop of class would have refrained from using such language. Well, well, well….the exchange got a little heated and Ding-a-ling told me that she shoved Julie onto the floor where she slid down three aisles.
Her 6 year-old daughter doesn’t understand what is happening and begins to cry hysterically. The best part? The line she gave her daugher…which was:
You’re gonna need to calm down because Mama’s fixin’ to go to jail.
Ding-a-ling immediately fled to her home. Her reasoning? She assumed that the OKC police wouldn’t come after her if she was in another county. A tiny part of my brain died that night.
