I was on the phone last week when the door to The Ledger office flew open.
A petite man came in with a stack of what at first glance appeared to be colored paper.
I looked up at him as I tried to maintain the conversation I was having with the person on the other end of the line.
The would-be delivery boy dropped the stack on the corner of my desk, gave me a slight nod as a wave and darted back out the door.
I watched in slack-jawed amazement as a van pulled up with its sliding side door open.
My office visitor jumped into the open door and the van took off.
With as much grace and speed as possible, I shrugged off my surprise and finished my phone call.
Then I inspected what had been placed on my desk.
It was a bundle of three phone books.
That seemed OK. It’s always good to have a current phone book, but three?
See, all three phone books were exactly the same.
I am basically the only one in the office. Rarely do I run into an occasion where I can’t use the phone book when I need it.
I don’t need three phone books here.
Environmentalists should be having a fit over all the wasted paper that is the two spare phone books.
But beyond the fact that I don’t require more phone books than I have hands, what is with the delivery method?
The strange van rolling around town with dudes jumping out of it as they carry armloads of phone books to everyone is a bit shady.
It really caught me off guard, and I think it has affected me more deeply than I realized at first.
When I got home that afternoon, I saw a similar stack of phone books on my porch.
For some reason, I didn’t used my front door until Saturday.
I just went into the house via the back entrance.
I didn’t touched the phone books, and it’s a good thing they were wrapped in plastic because it has rained a few times since they were placed there.
One would think I would have just gone and got them, verify the fact that my home probably has two copies of the telephone directory and dispose of them in whatever fashion I deem appropriate.
Did I though?
I don’t know.
I just looked at them sitting there every time I came home.
While inside the house, I even peeked out the window at them, but I didn’t go move them.
Strange, I know.
Then Troy (my brother) and Dale (my cousin) came over before the fabled auction and needed to make a phone call.
Troy went and grabbed the phone books and unwrapped them.
So now I have two basically useless phone books next to my television.
It is my hope that I will soon find the motivation to deal with them.
If not, maybe I can use the stack as a table for when I sit on the porch.