My Surreal and Bizarre Morning Call

So, this morning, after opening the store and settling in for the day, the phone rang. It’s a woman who tells me she saw our ad in The State’s holiday gift guide. She is specifically interested in the pewter measuring cups and spoons we carried by Crosby & Taylor.

Crosby & Taylor Measuring Cups

She proceeded to tell me that she was interested in three sets and that I needed to call a gentleman to get the credit card information because her wallet was stolen. I recognize the area code as being a Dallas, Texas number and tell her this, along with the fact that we spent 25 years in Austin, Texas. She then tells me that she lived in Austin for several years as she was the architect of the Frost Bank building – one of Austin’s first “tall” buildings.

We reminisce about Central Texas and Clarksville Pottery – a favorite store on which Artizan is sort of patterned. In fact, this is where I first learned of the beautifully hand-crafted measuring spoons.

She was also interested in the freshwater pearl necklace in the same ad and told me to let her friend in Dallas know this, as she thought it would be a great Christmas gift. She went on to tell me about other artists around the country – a rambling and profuse slather of words that came so fast I couldn’t write it all down. She gives me another person's phone number for whom the third set of pewter is a gift. Then she proceeds to tell me about an artist living in the Ozarks whose work she saw at the Springdale Artist Guild. And then she goes on to tell me that she’s actually in Columbia, SC, for 30 days on an important assignment she can’t discuss because it involves the CIA, and she’s looking for someone who has been missing for over a month.

Now, as I’m typing this note at almost 2 pm, she just called again, wanting to know if I reached the guy in Dallas. I explained to her that I called him just after hanging up on her first phone call. He didn’t know who she was or how she got his phone number, although obviously, she had it as I called it… In this most recent call, she said, “I’m sorry he couldn’t help; I’ll get in touch with the coach of the NFL team. I’m here in intelligence to stop the black revolution and Mexican revolution. I’m from a very old Texas family that owns the King Ranch, and I am here to indict judges. I was married to Michael Armand. I’m 63, but I’m well. I have migraines. We used to own the Dallas Cowboys years ago and lost it.”

And a third time, this woman calls back. She needs me to get a note to Ron Rivera with the Carolina Panthers to give her a call. “I was a Displomatic Consort in 1992-93 because a Texas Bank was stolen. Michael came to me psychically to let me know of the problem. See, I own Neiman Marcus and grew up with Hoffeinzs, and I am just so angry with them. Caller ID says she called from 803-935-0115. Google tells me this is Columbia Care.

At this point, I understand this woman must be a resident of an inpatient psychiatric ward and somehow got to the phone in the office.

And curtain.