Yesterday morning I had a phone call from a friend I hadn't heard from in over a year. It was good to hear from her and know she was okay. But she was in a bit of a pickle financially and didn't even have the money for her electricity meter which was about to run out. With warnings of a cold snap about to hit Britain, I couldn't have her sitting in a dark freezing flat.
The problem was that she lives on the other side of London from me. And I was scheduled to have a booking at 3 pm later that day. I told her to hold on while I phoned my client to reschedule the booking until later that evening. This would give me enough time to drive there, give her a little something to tide her by, and return to South London. She's always willing to help others. It was nice to be able to be there for her.
I phoned my client and got his voice mail. I left a message. In fact, it was one of those times when you're suddenly cut off in the middle of talking by the automated voice asking you if you'd like to listen to the message, or re-record it. I chose the option to listen, wondering if it had recorded me at all. It had, and I sat there cringing (I've never liked the sound of my own voice although I am forever being told that it is sexy) while my message was being played back, and even though it ended abruptly, it basically had all the key information, an apology from me for the late rescheduling notice, and the suggested new meeting time. I followed the instructions to save and send the message and got a confirmation automated message saying the message had been sent.
Then I rang her back and confirmed that I could come now that I had rescheduled. Over the course of the next couple of hours, while I got ready to go and see her, I did wonder why he hadn't called me back to confirm the later suggested time. I was hoping that he'd call me before he set off from home, which was a good two to three hours away from me. But I was juggling so much in my mind that I didn't dwell on it.
As I was nearing her home, my phone rang. It was him. I thought he was calling to re-arrange. But to my horror, he was phoning to let me know he was outside my front door. He had never got my message he said. He got a message that sounded like a wrong number being hung up. But not my message.
I was mortified. Bit too far out to do a u-turn. Up to half an hour earlier, had he phoned, I could have turned back.
I sat on the A40, with my head on the steering wheel, contemplating the mess. Yes, I had pulled over when I got his call. He didn't sound happy and I don't blame him. But I can't help wishing he'd phoned before starting the journey. What a gamble! I also wish I'd phoned him again. And sent an email. And sent a text message, as much as I hate the latter. I'd have felt all bases were covered. But I had thought a call to his phone would suffice. I know better now.
I'm curious to see what he's going to do. Will he call to reschedule? Will he write me off as a time-wasting escort? He would have been the first to benefit from my special February offer. It will be interesting how he reacts and that in itself will inspire another blog entry.
I know what I am. I am an escort who will never again assume that a voice mail (or text message) has been delivered!
xxx
Pru
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