Fall must be in the air

My faithful readers already know that I am a practical joker.  Kind of crazy.  Nuts, sometimes.  That guy.  

My cell phone rang immediately after my wife called me to supper one evening.  I had it up to my ear when I sat down at the table.  That irritates Mary a little bit, just as it should.  I knew I needed to finish the call, fast.  “Hello?” I answered.  

On the other end of the line was a representative of a propane company.  The friendly female voice said, “This is Lydia at WXYZ Propane Company.  Thank you for your time, Mr. Terrill.  My records show that you were formerly one of our faithful rural customers. I am calling to see if we can earn your business back by offering you a substantial discount this year. You can set your price per gallon now, and it will not go up, even if propane costs skyrocket this winter.”

It was supper time.  My wife was waiting for me to hang up.  We were already at the table.  I dislike telemarketing calls. But I couldn’t resist pulling Lydia’s leg a little bit.

Just so you know, we have a totally electric home.  We have a rural address, true enough, but we have never purchased propane from WXYZ Propane Company.  I felt sure that Lydia also knew that I had never bought her propane before.  She was trying to trick me into switching companies.   

“There must be some mistake,” I said. “I am already a customer. We get a lot of gas from you.  I love your gas, too.  Two or three times each year Larry delivers fresh gas.” (I named my imaginary delivery man “Larry.”)

“Excuse me? Our records show that you don’t purchase propane from us.”

“Oh, yes, I do!”  I insisted.  “Every time Larry, your driver, delivers propane he gives me a one-hundred-dollar-discount if I pay in cash.  It’s a great savings for me!”  

There was an awkward hesitation on the line.  I knew she was trying to process what she had heard, and what she should do about it.  

Just as I was about to say, “Only kidding!”  She said, “Thank you for your time, Sir.  Goodbye.”  Click.  

Mentally, I tried to imagine the massive manhunt that would now ensue for any propane delivery man in my area named Larry.  She was probably calling the FBI right now.  I glanced at my cell phone in hopes of calling Lydia back, but it said, “Caller Unknown.”  

Mary had heard part of the conversation.  “Telemarketer?” she asked.  I said, “Yes.  Another telemarketer.”  

“You’d better pray,” she said, “Our food is getting cold.”

I bowed my head over our fresh homegrown tomatoes and crispy turkey bacon sandwiches. I asked the Lord to bless our food.  Before I said, Amen,” I said, “and please bless Larry.”

“Who is Larry?” Mary asked.  

“Just some guy who used to have a job delivering propane,” I answered.