Me, this morning, frantically shouting at my agent’s assistant through my phonecar: HEY, SORRY, WHERE IS THIS MEETING?
Agent’s Assistant:…Joan’s on Third.
Me: YES I KNOW, BUT WHERE IS IT
Agent’s Assistant: on Third.
Me: BUT WHAT STREET?
Agent’s Assistant:…..On third.
Me: WHAT?
Agent’s Assistant: …Third Street.
(Beat.)
Me: OH RIGHT SORRY. I’VE HIT JUST A LITTLE BIT OF TRAFFIC JUST PLEASE JUST GIVE THEM A HEADS UP THAT I’LL BE SEVEN AND A HALF HOURS LATE. PLEASE APOLOGIZE FOR ME, AND HAVE THEM ORDER ME A DECAF ALMOND MILK LATTE, AND A SMALL CABIN TUCKED IN THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH CAROLINA, PERHAPS BY A STREAM, WHERE I CAN LIVE OUT MY DAYS AND NEVER HAVE TO GET IN A CAR OR SPEAK ON A PHONECAR EVER, EVER AGAIN.
Agent’s Assistant: Will do?
Me: WAIT, WHICH THIRD