Q. Excuse me. I lost my cell phone. Have you seen it?
A. Do I know you?

Q. If you knew me, you’d know you don’t know me.
A. Then how would I have seen your cell phone?

Q. That’s a good question. How would you?
A. I wouldn’t know, because I don’t know you.

Q. So, only if you know me will you tell me where my cell phone is?
A. But I don’t know you. And I haven’t seen where your cell phone went.

Q. By the way, a cell phone doesn’t went. It just remains wherever you left it.
A. I didn’t leave your cell phone anywhere.

Q. But if you knew me, maybe you borrowed it and forgot to give it back, even if I don’t know you.
A. How could I know you if I don’t know you ?

Q. I’m afraid it is what it is. 
A. You mean all in all?

Q. Look, let’s  say we’re both attending the same summer Banjo Camp, and…
A. But I don’t play the banjo. I don’t even like the banjo.

Q. Then what are you doing at the banjo camp?
A. Actually, I’m not there. I’m here.

Q. Where is here?
A. Very simple. Here is here and not there. Speaking of there, what planet are you from?

Q. Planet Zulon, of course. Aren’t we all?
A. Planet Zulon?

Q. You’re acting like you never heard of it.
A. Thanks for noticing. I did a bit of acting in Hollywood a while back. Maybe you saw me in “The Peanut Vendor’s Widow.” I played the coroner.

Q. I thought it was “The Peanut Vendor’s Window.”
A. That makes no sense. First of all, it implies the peanut vendor sold his peanuts through or behind a window. Second of all…

Q. Maybe it’s simply a reference to the metaphorical window of his soul through which he saw the world pass by everyday.
A. …second of all, the peanut vendor is dead. I pronounced him dead as the coroner. The movie is about his widow.

Q. That’s crazy. He wasn’t even married. In fact he was a robot. I mean, what planet are you on?
A. You’re standing on it. It’s called Earth.

Q. Earth?
A. You act like you never heard of it.

Q. No, I’ve heard of it. Everybody in the galaxy’s heard of it. The nice blue and green planet ruined by an obese bale of hay who likes to blow his own horn.
A. He’s not exactly an instrumentalist.

Q. But he was instrumental in ruining your planet, correct?
A. The jury is still out on that.

Q. Out? Who let the jury out?
A. See, when I say “the jury,” it’s a reference to the collective judgement of society as it comes to grips with a sensitive…

Q. Wait. You’re saying the horn blower is sensitive?
A. Well, no. In fact, just the opposite.

Q. You mean an out and out fart?
A. Fertilizer would probably be more accurate, but the jury…

Q. …is still out, right. But how far out?
A. The last time anyone checked it was in Manitoba.

Q. Hold on just a sec. I have to take this call from my mother. It’s her birthday.
A. Um, is that your cell phone?

Q. What?
A. Your cell phone. The one you were looking for. Looks like it was in your pocket all along.

Q. Wow, so it was. You know, sometimes life in the fast lane moves just a little too fast.
A. And sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know.

Q. Exactly. But you don’t even know it.
A. You took the words right out of your mouth.

Q. I hear you.
A. I think not.

Q. Hi Mom. Happy Birthday. You’re not going to believe where I’m calling from.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2020, all rights reserved.