So, I’m not in Asheville for my family’s Thanksgiving-on-Saturday.  A hose came loose on my transmission, fluid went everywhere, and it’s in the shop until Monday.  On the, plus side, it didn’t happen halfway to Asheville, I got done the shopping I required done and friends (Andy, Joe and Mr. Saturday) have seen to my various needs in the interim.  So, hey.

Also, a tree fell on the tool shed.  It didn’t totally  destroy it, but it does need to be replaced now.  Everything inside was fine, but the roof is, uh, a lot less roofy now.

And the cable went out.  But that got fixed.

All that aside, have I ever told you about Eugenio’s family calling me?  Right after we moved here and I started using my cellphone exclusively, I started getting calls for Eugenio.  Spanish-speaking men would call and ask for Eugenio.  I took Spanish in high school and college, so I speak a little.  Nothing like Mel-knee does or Debra do, given they speak it for a living, but I do remember just a little.  So, the first time it happened I tried to tell them they had the wrong number.  However, I screwed up the vocabulary and told them they had the wrong name.  Confusion reigned.  The call ended with me hanging up on them as they pleaded that they were my/his family.  I felt terrible, but I didn’t know how to tell them I wasn’t Eugenio – they just weren’t believing me by the time I got the vocabulary right.

After that, they called every month or so.  I’d try to explain, fuck it up, not hear from them again for a while.  That happened a few times, then it stopped.

About two months ago, I got another call for Eugenio.  Since then – it’s embarrassing to admit this, but true – I had occasionally made myself repeat "the number you have is incorrect" over and over in Spanish, just to make sure I could say it when the time came.  And, finally, the time had come.  A woman – the first time it had been a woman, something of intense interest to me since I had often wondered who was calling, was it Eugenio’s brother, or uncle, or father, perhaps even his son? – called and asked for Eugenio.  "The number you have is incorrect," I said, and I said it perfectly.  There was a pause.  "I’m sorry," I said, "I speak Spanish but only a little."  The woman laughed and asked in Spanish if this was North Carolina.  I told her yes, it was, and she said it was okay and I apologized again and she was very nice.  

I felt unbelievably relieved, and figured that was that.

Just now, though – literally, as I type this, about five minutes ago – I got another Eugenio call.  "The number you have is incorrect," I said, and I said it perfectly again.  It was an old woman this time – I could barely hear her when she asked for him, and I feared she wouldn’t be able to hear me, either.  Our connection was terrible, and her voice was soft.  I wondered which aged elder was this?  "I’m sorry," I said again, "I speak Spanish but only a little."  My grammar is probably all wrong, but I at least had the vocabulary right, so I figured they could sort it out.  The woman sat there for a second after I further explained and then said, in crisp and perfect English, "Oh, alright.  Sorry about that."  And then she hung up.

Now I am even more confused.

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