The Wrong Place at the Right Time

Brother Bob’s 3rd Quarter 2013, Newsletter

We all experience uncomfortable situations now and then. It keeps life interesting. However, there are times when we should listen to that little voice inside our heads.

During the month of May, I attended the Oklahoma Writers Federation annual conference. I’d met with my good friends, Chuck Sasser and Dan Case, and we’d picked some sessions to attend. Chuck had chosen one, dealing with the writing of romance. Dan and I, though harboring dubious doubts, went along with it.

                   

As one might expect, the romance genre encompasses various levels of graphic exposition, ranging from prosaic to poetic, depending upon one’s preference of prose, when reading about virtual human encounters. To say that Chuck’s choice turned out to be of the more explicit nature is putting it mildly.

Now Chuck admits to the encroachment of a certain amount of hearing impairment. With us sitting in the back of the room, I suppose it’s possible a good portion of the speaker’s oration hadn’t made it through. Anyway, Chuck sat there with a big smile on his face while Dan and I shifted uncomfortably in our seats. Being the only males in the room didn’t help matters. I realized having to hold my wife’s purse in the lingerie department wasn’t the most embarrassing experience of my life after all.

Available options raced through my head. I didn’t want to be rude, get up and walk out, but I had to do something. That’s when it happened. During a rather climactic moment of the program, while mesmerized participants eagerly waited to hear the next vivid words, the sound of my cell phone, which replicates a Harley Davidson with remarkable clarity blasted through the room. I usually turn it off during the sessions but I’d miraculously forgotten, leaving the device fully functional. Most of you are familiar with the movie scene where the girl whips her head around, her hair following in sensuous slow motion. Well, multiply that by fifty or sixty and add piercing, angry eyes and you’ll have a decent image of my becoming the focus of attention. Grabbing the opportunity, I jumped up and bolted from the room.

I brought the phone to my ear.

“This is Tom Harrison,” the voice on the other end said.

I tried to rid my thoughts of sexual images planted there during the session. Even though I had not initiated attending the class, had not known the extreme nature of its content, I felt like a teenager, who’d been caught looking at dirty pictures. “Pastor, Tom, what a pleasant surprise.”

I belong to a large congregation and having the head pastor call is out of the ordinary, to say the least.

“Is David around?” The pastor asked. “I want to wish him a happy birthday.”

I explained to the pastor that he’d reached my cell phone, and that I was not at home, but was attending a writer’s conference in Norman, Oklahoma. I finished my conversation with Pastor Tom then thanked him for calling. He’ll never know how his impeccable timing rescued me that day.

Thanks, Chuck. Payback is coming.