As the old saying goes, colonoscopies are fun. Light, dreamy anesthetic. Guilt-free napping. Recover in twenty-four hours. The day before? Gross.

So it was a while ago, I emerged from the process relatively unscathed. Shakespeare never defined the calming relief associated with one’s bowels being judged unimpeded. Regardless of the bard’s superlative use of iambic pentameter, this reassurance defies description.

So my cell rings, and without looking at the number because I am still floating, I answer. “Greetings! You have been selected to be almost certainly given a free night’s lodging in Jamaica at a resort of your choosing. You were picked from a list of recently acquired names.” I knew I could not follow all of this coherently, so I wrote down most of the message. Then fell back on the couch.

Within the quarter-hour another call. I felt sure this one was from one of my kids, asking as to my condition. This time I checked the number. “Maryland.”

“Hello, we notice you have a business and we are inquiring if you would like to boost your sales. Our professionals offer round the clock consulting so you can take advantage of our expertise at your convenience.” I am madly trying to hold the pencil in my hand but the stupid thing keeps slipping to the floor. “We have studied your area and feel we have important thoughts for you to consider.” As I again reach for the pencil, I hit the phone’s on-off button and end this one-sided conversation. Without malice. I scribble what I can recall on a pad of yellow post-it notes. I can’t read what I wrote and have you ever tried tearing off a post-it note when it moves around like that?

I sleep for a bit.

Another buzzing vibration. I see this one’s from Tekamah so it should be OK, right? “Hi, we have been trying to reach you.” Another monotone voice. “As you have been approved for a ten thousand dollar loan, we know that you will want to access this money as soon as you can. We are committed to helping you even though our previous attempts to contact you have failed.”

Wow. Ten grand! Somebody has finally recognized my worth. I try to shout the good news to my wife in the next room but the words sound like, “Tim Caina wazzto live us da tin mand.”

“Honey,” my wife softly replied, “most Vice-Presidential candidates secretly desire to carry an ax through Oz.

I nod in agreement. I can rest easy knowing I have money to smartly invest in my company which I will move to the Jamaica of my choice. I see flying monkeys...right outside the window.

Don Cunningham of Fremont is a freelance columnist.

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