So, How Are Those Dogs Anyway?

The sweat was beading up on my forehead. I was about to have a panic attack, right there on the AT&T long-distance grid.

Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience. You’re talking to someone on the phone. The conversation is going well except for one small detail: You have no idea who you’re talking to.

These conversations can be awkward, except when they are sheer living hellfire.

Here’s how one might go: You: So! Well! How’s the weather there in, um, your city. Or, um, country.

Unknown Person: Fine …

You: Good! Good! It’s nice here, too.

Unknown Person: I’m about eight blocks from you.

You: Well, of course you are! Listen. So. Tell me. How are your, you know, your …

Unknown Person: Dogs? You: … kids. Yes! Dogs! How are those dogs of yours? Unknown Person: They’re doing great.

You: Yessir. I’ll never forget those big old dogs of yours.

Unknown Person: They’re dachshunds.

You: Those cute little wiener dogs. So. Tell me. You still working for the, you know, same place? Unknown Person: Yes. Same place I was working at before.

You: OK. The same old place, huh? And you’re still doing the same … things … for them that you were doing before? Unknown Person: Well …

You: Still have the same position you had before? Unknown Person: Well, I’m still the owner, if that’s what you mean.

You: That’s exactly what I mean. So. Tell me. What’s on your mind? Unknown Person: That’s what I was going to ask you. I was just returning your call.

You: Oh, well, I was just wondering if … Listen, I’m sorry. I give up. I’m going to come right out with it here. Who are you? Unknown Person: I’m Al Smithson.

You: My gastroenterologist! Smithson: No. Your butcher.

Personal calls like this are bad enough, but last week I was facing a professional, not personal, crisis. Weeks before, I had set up a longdistance phone interview with someone, and I had dutifully written down the name and time. The day of the interview, I looked at my calendar, looked at the name, and drew a complete blank.

I couldn’t remember who he was. He could have been an artist, farmer, actor, singer, children’s book author, mass murderer, or mass-murdererturned-children’s-book-author. I didn’t have a clue.

The guy was going to call me any minute. Seconds were ticking away, so I took the only course left open: I tried to devise a sneaky opening question. This question had to extract all the vital information, without tipping him off that I didn’t already know it.

Here are some of the openers I considered: “So, tell me all about your latest project.”

“Describe one of your typical days.”

“If I asked you to describe your work, how would you do it?” Yeah, with my luck the guy would have answered, “Profound, yet at the same time, frothy,” leaving me still completely clueless.

I finally settled on this as the perfect opening question: “So, tell me, how did you get started in this line of work?” As it turned out I never had to use this line at all, because just minutes before the phone rang I finally remembered who the guy was. He was the lead actor in the Broadway musical “Evita.”

This solved all of my problems, except for one small detail. Turned out, the guy was the opening act in a country concert.