There was a fascinating new episode in my continuing dispute with the fellow who took offense at my e-mail reply to him, because it appeared in blue letters. Today I got another email from him, in which he demanded that I apologize for sending him a blue email.
The customer is always right, of course, so I immediately responded with an apology.
However, due to the way our email operates, the apology was in blue letters.
I expect he was not placated.
If this were a thriller novel, this would be the point at which I start to notice strangers following me, and to receive cryptic, threatening phone calls.
I realized long ago that I would never survive a thriller novel. I’d be one of the hapless bystanders mown down in a spray of blood by the psycho, on his way to the big showdown with Somebody Who Knows How to Handle Himself. My friend Ragnar, perhaps, or my friend Michael Z. Williamson.
Had an interesting phone call this evening. A fellow in California had seen my name and address in the Sons of Norway magazine (I’m Vice President of my lodge now), and called me to find out if I possibly knew a fellow he knew long, long ago, when he lived around here. He had a family memento he wanted to give the fellow, if he was still alive.
Alas, I didn’t. Nor did the better-acquainted district officer I checked with immediately afterward.
Aside from not being Somebody Who Knows How to Handle Himself, I’m also not much of a private investigator.
For the record.