When the Coyote Caught the Roadrunner
The ringing of the phone at my desk broke the silence that usually pervades my office in the early morning.
“What are you doing for dinner a year from today, 2009?”
Let me rewind. A few days earlier, my wife and I had listened to the NPR feature on Talula’s Table, which merited a strange mix of emotions. Happiness and pride, that the shop, after weeks and weeks of delays, had not only opened but was thriving. A little bit of bitterness and resentment, on the other hand, that acquiring dinner reservations at Talula’s was such an impossible prospect.
My wife had the crazy idea. She said, “Let’s just forget about going for a specific date. Let’s forget about planning for a birthday or anniversary or how we’re going to get a bunch of people together. Let’s just give them a call one morning at 7am.”
We commute into work very early in the morning, leaving the house at 6am. She drops me off at my office, and then continues on to her work, meaning that we avoid the rush hour traffic, both of us firmly planted at our desks by 7am. It just so happened that, on this particular day, my wife picked up her phone at 6:59am and dialed the phone number for Talula’s Table. What the heck.
As my wife relates it, a young woman answered the phone, and my wife asked, “You don’t, by any chance, have a reservation open for this date in 2009?”
“Let me check,” said the woman. “Actually, it looks like we do.”
I think it took less than a millisecond to snatch that reservation and button it up. So, next summer, we’re having dinner at Talula’s Table.