Digital Ischemia

28/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 15

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: Listen: this isn’t the Fetish Warehouse.
SìMON: (D) Oh, really?
LACRIMOSA: It’s just me stuck in the house.
SìMON: Aye, I figured, you’re too…caring to inflict pain.
LACRIMOSA: If you only knew me.
SìMON: No, OK, I just couldnae hear any chains clanking so I kenned you were—
LACRIMOSA: Pulling your chain?
SìMON: Hah!
LACRIMOSA: The fetish BDSM thing just was stupid. It was a spur of the moment bit of nonsense. It’s not even funny.
SìMON: It worked for me.
LACRIMOSA: Doesn’t say much for you.
SìMON: I don’t have anything against that, er, ‘community’; it’s good for bad puns – the stereotype.
LACRIMOSA: We’re all stereotypes. So, you rumbled me. Can we stop doing this now?
SìMON: My name’s no’ Sìmon.
LACRIMOSA: Mine’s not Lacrimosa.
SìMON: Oh, really? What is it?
LACRIMOSA: Does it matter? Can we just hang up now?
SìMON: Probably no’; you could say anything.
LACRIMOSA: Henrietta Soleil Buckminster-Fullerene the third.
SìMON: Aye.
LACRIMOSA: Your turn.
SìMON: It’s Simon.
LACRIMOSA: How utterly dull. Try again.
SìMON: It really is.
LACRIMOSA: I don’t care. Can you not invent something?!
SìMON: Simon Gillespie.
LACRIMOSA: There must be thousands of those. I think I used to know one—well, work with one.
SìMON: That’s me.
LACRIMOSA: What do you mean?
SìMON: I’m the one you used to work with – at Dalry’s.
LACRIMOSA: Wait, there, you don’t know who I am, never mind where I worked!
SìMON: Actually I do. Mind I used to call you, at your new work, after you left? You thought I was after a job. Then one day you didnae answer. Then someone else picked up and it was all careful wording about you being oot the office. Then eventually they just said you didnae work there any more. (PAUSE) Hello?
LACRIMOSA: How many times did you call?!
SìMON: Several.
LACRIMOSA: Hello not-the-person-I-thought-I-was-speaking-to – pointlessly-lying-to.
SìMON: So we were both lying.
LACRIMOSA: I’m sorry.
SìMON: What for?
LACRIMOSA: For not calling you back. I still have your number.
SìMON: Thanks for no’ lying there. I hate that ‘I lost your number’ shit.
LACRIMOSA: Oh, I definitely still have it. I just can’t get at it.
SìMON: On a shelf you cannae reach?
LACRIMOSA: Hah. I thought you were a ‘professional contact’ so I saved one of those fancy files with all your trivia to remind me who you were, you know, and how often you pestered me about ‘doing lunch’. I saved it and backed it up and copied it to my external hard drive at home. Then I got the sack and didn’t have hundreds of pounds to furnish myself with Microsoft Office and all its security botches and flaky instabilities. So now I have a dot-VC-something file that my dear old second-hand open-source PC has no idea what to do with.
SìMON: That was a pretty convincing story.
LACRIMOSA: OK, good, because yours is so totally full of holes and creepiness that I’m not going to speak to you anymore.
SìMON: Fair dos.

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