The Accidental Chore

Approximately 1.5 years ago, I put my cell phone on top of my car and drove off. As it came sliding down my windshield while I was traveling 40 miles an hour, I thought to myself, “Yay! I’m the proud winner of a 3.5 hour stay at the closest Verizon store where I will then get the ability to shell out my hard-earned cash in exchange for providing Apple with all of my personal data. Dreams really do come true.”

You can only imagine my delight when I realized that even after this joy ride, my old phone was really no worse for the wear. No cracked screen. Still turned on and off. The battery managed to last for a record-breaking 28 minutes on a good day. Everything was the exact same except for one thing.

It only works on speakerphone. Still to this day.

That’s right. For the last year and a half, forget about just providing Apple with my personal information, it’s now a service I offer for free to ALL my friends, family, co-workers and fellow Fred Meyer shoppers. When you have a cell phone that only works on speakerphone, random strangers start to learn a lot about you and, ultimately, your friend’s botched boob job. No matter how many times I tell people they are on speakerphone, stuff always ends up coming up that should probably stay private.

And, yes, this still beats me shelling out money for a new iPhone. I mean, I can take my old Six Plus and cover up the headphone jack with a piece of electrical tape and viola, a brand-new iPhone 10. Except for the speakerphone issue, of course. There’s always the speakerphone issue.

I decided that instead of investing in something new and expensive which would involve me learning new technology at 34 (seems legit impossible), I would turn to good old Craigslist.

Can I tell you how much I love Craigslist? For a family on a budget, it’s such a great tool to keep things economical, which is why it seemed like the perfect way to solve the speakerphone issue with a new-to-me phone.

This is the scenario that led me to the gas station near my work, clutching a handful of bills, leaning against my car, waiting for someone I didn’t know. A man pulled up next to me and made eye contact. When I looked back up, he was still looking at me. Since we’d been staring at each other for a good ten seconds, I naturally assumed he was there for me.

He wasn’t.

I started to realize this important fact as I got closer when he didn’t move to respond in the way I thought he should if he was planning on meeting someone. He just sat in his car, with his expression getting more puzzled with each step I took.  

But here’s where it got really awkward. Instead of saying something about meeting me for a Craigslist item, I took it to a weird place. I recognize that now.

I said, “Are you here for me?”

He laughed as he said, “If I were twenty years younger, I would be here for your services.”

Services?

Services.

I was confused by this point. Really. So I asked him what he meant and he replied with these three fateful words.

“You a hooker?”

They say it’s impossible but I say it’s not. I swallowed my tongue. And then, peeps, I almost died. As I jumped in my car to flee the scene of the accidental crime, I decided a phone that only works on speakerphone is better than ever showing my face at that gas station again.

When the husband goes shopping

I feel the need to start this story by telling you all the good things about my husband. He’s kind, compassionate, giving and extremely smart in a crazy intelligent kind of way. I’m grateful for all he does for our family and myself. But I also feel the need to let you know that he has flaws. Few flaws. But they are there. Would it be okay if I gave you an in-depth look into my husband’s mind? It can be a beautifully-annoying place when he attempts to grocery shop.

Warning: what I’m about to talk about next is AN EXACT reenactment of a true story. If you are easily agitated, it’s best to stop reading now.

Since my husband works on the road, he’s footloose and fancy free when he walks in the door for one week a month. For this reason, I thought it would be okay to send him to the grocery store for the two things we needed for dinner. As best as I can tell by the detailed description he gave me once he got home, the comprehensive map and written outline were enough for him to be able to procure milk and tortillas with little-to-no discomfort. But then he walked down the cereal aisle and that’s when the phone calls started rolling in.

Chase: Babe. I’m at Fred Meyer.

Katie: Good job?

Chase: And the cereal is on sale.

Katie: Shut. The. Front. Door. I’ve been grocery shopping for ten plus years and I’ve never seen the cereal go on sale. This is a miracle of Biblical proportions.

Chase: I’m sensing the sarcasm in your voice.

Katie: Good! If you didn’t, I would be highly concerned.

Chase: But this is a really good deal. We should stock up.

Katie: Babe, I can tell you really want to get some cereal. Since we regularly eat cereal, it really would be so helpful if you would pick some up. Thank you.

Chase: Okay, will do.  

Now if this were the end of the story, I obviously wouldn’t be writing about it. So let’s keep going.

30 seconds later. Phone call number two.

Chase: Still in cereal aisle.

Katie: Okay.

Chase: There are eight different varieties on sale. Three are more sugary based. I had planned on getting six boxes but now I’m not sure.

Katie: I’m hesitant to ask why because I’m afraid I might come across as more vested than I really am.

Chase: Well, I’ve done the math on the cost per ounce…

Katie: Math?

Chase: And based on the size, some are actually a better deal. But since the kids don’t eat sugar cereal, I’m concerned that getting six boxes might seem like too much.

Katie: Oh that’s right. Our kids neeeevvvver eat sugar cereal (the one week a month that you’re home).

Chase: Wait, should I get sugar cereal?

Katie: Babe, I trust you. It’s your call.

Chase: It just seems like six boxes is a big commitment and I don’t want to mess up.

Yes, peeps. My husband told me that making a purchase of somewhere in the neighborhood of $15 was a big commitment. I’m shocked he showed up to our wedding.

Fifteen seconds later. Phone call number three.

Chase: Still here.

Katie: This is weird.

Chase: I’ve decided I’m going to get two boxes of Fruity Pebbles and we can make a chart so the kids know to only eat it every third day.

Katie: Chart?

Chase: So should I get the fruity Fruity Pebbles or the chocolate ones?

Katie: Chart? Our youngest showed up to school today with only one shoe and you think I’m going to get my life together enough to make a chart to monitor cereal consumption?

Chase: It’ll be easy. You can do it.

Katie: You know me acting as The Cereal Enforcer is actually a chore, not something that brings me any joy?

Chase: So no on the Fruity Pebbles?

Katie: I. Don’t. Care. I have now wasted eighty precious seconds of my unlimited cell phone minutes discussing a topic I blindly support you on.

Chase: Okay. Well, it’s just that…

Katie: Nope. I give you full authority to handle this.

Two seconds later. Phone call number four.

Katie: If I hear the words “Fruity Pebbles” come out of your mouth, I’m not coming home tonight.

Chase: I just wanted to let you know that I figured it out.

Katie: I’m proud of you.

Chase: And I did get two boxes of uuuuhhhh.

Katie: Goodbye.

When I got home, the kids were rejoicing over their new cereal haul and rabidly shoving mouthfuls down their throats. Overall, it was a good day at the Burke house because I only had to go to the grocery store mentally and my husband figured out he could do hard things.

Can I ask just one small favor, dear reader? If you see my husband at Fred Meyer, standing in the cereal aisle while dialing his cell phone, will you “accidentally” run your cart into his ankles? Trust me when I say, my sanity is on the line.