Bob Dylan, circa 1965.
Another unscripted moment in my life:
"Hello. Could I speak with Vic Alboini please?"
“I’m afraid he is out of the province until Friday”
“OK. Should I speak louder then?”
A pause, then a peal of laughter.
Once I hear the laughter I know I’ve won.
I said I’d call back on Monday, but Wendy asked if I’d like to leave a voice-mail.
No, I said, we’ve not spoken before and he’ll be playing catch-up on Friday when he returns.
Wendy then asked if she could send an email on my behalf (!), but again I declined. No, I said, he’ll have a ton of email and voice-mail to work through, and I don’t want to make it any worse.
(See how I am strenuously trying to avoid contact here?)
I figure that on Monday I’ll call back, ask to be put through to “Wendy, Vic’s secretary”, and she’ll remember me and I can pile right in and ask for a luncheon date, any time in the future.
Wendy is on my side, now.