Front Porch: Long-distance business that early not a good idea

Conference calls are a necessary evil when you live in the Northwest and write for clients on the East Coast. There’s simply no other way to plan upcoming projects in an efficient and timely manner.

And I blame time for the embarrassing experience I endured last week during a scheduled call.

That pesky three-hour time difference between coasts means when my client schedules a call at 9 a.m., it’s 6 a.m. in Spokane.

I don’t do mornings. Not at all. If I have to be vertical before 8 a.m., there will be consequences. But to be vertical and verbal before 9? Well, that’s just a disaster waiting to happen.

I staggered out of bed when my alarm shrilled, shrugged on my robe and slid my foot into the one pink bunny slipper I could find. Apparently, the other had hopped away during the night.

While the coffeemaker sputtered and gurgled, I found my notebook, pulled my hair back in a scrunchie and thanked God this wasn’t a Facetime or Skype call.

By the time I sat at my desk and fired up my computer, my phone was buzzing. Coffee in hand, I began the awkward greetings with people who were probably wearing more clothes and were definitely more alert than I.

If you haven’t experienced a conference call, the dance goes something like this. “Hi, Cindy, this is George checking in.”

“Hi, George.”

“Hey, ya’ll, this is Harvey.”

George and I say, hello to Harvey.

Minutes tick by and George says, “We’re waiting for Deanna.”

A chime sounds and Deanna says, “Hi George, Harvey and Cindy, Bill will be sitting in for this call.”

Bill? Who’s Bill? I wonder. But now that we’re all somewhat present and absolutely accounted for the long-distance meeting begins.

I’m just the writer. These folks decide what stories they want in their newsletter or blog or website and when they’d like it done, and I flesh out their ideas, check my availability and pick their brains for sources.

My questions prompt lively discussion among the participants and even silent Bill weighs in on occasion.

And somehow about 15 minutes into a 45-minute conversation, my mind starts to wander. Since no one can see me, I check out the toes on my unslippered foot and the word “pedicure” appears in my newsletter notes.

The freezer isn’t too far away from my basement desk, so I check its contents for dinner ideas, making sure the volume is set to high on my speakerphone, so I don’t miss anything.

Magically the words “pork loin” appear beneath “pedicure.”

“Is April 11th doable, Cindy?” a voice says. And suddenly, I don’t know if it’s Harvey or George or Bill. I know it isn’t Deanna.

“Looks likely,” I reply, as I frantically thumb through my calendar. How did we get to April, already?

“Great! On to item four. What are your thoughts on this one, Bill?”

And discussion resumes. My coffee has gotten cold, and I doodle a sad face with the word PERK beneath it.

Bill wants to know if I can realistically interview three sources within the allotted time frame. Thankfully, I’ve scribbled APRIL 11 surrounded by arrows and exclamation points, so I can affirm his request with confidence.

Meanwhile, my cat Thor has followed me to my desk. Sleepily, he rubs against my legs, tail erect, happy purrs rumbling from his throat.

Absently, I reach down to stroke his ears, prompting more ecstatic purrs. “Who’s Mama’s big boy?” I murmur. “Does my Mama’s baby need his pets? Oh yes, he does!”

The sound of a throat clearing interrupts our love fest.

Horrified, I realize I’ve totally forgotten I’m on speakerphone.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. “My cat just woke up and …”

Mortification and lack of caffeine render me speechless.

“Your cat?” George says. “Darn, I thought you were talking to me.”

Guffaws and giggles crackle through my phone as Harvey insists I’ve always referred to him as Mama’s Baby.

Deanna valiantly brings the call back on track and with cheeks burning I focus fully on the conversation at hand.

As the meeting draws to a close, I confirm the deliverable dates and apologize profusely for talking to my cat during our call.

Laughing, Deanna suggests we set the time for next month’s call for 11 a.m. “That way it’s 8 a.m. for Cindy and she’ll be wide awake raring to go,” she said.

If only she knew.

Everyone agrees to the time except for Harvey, who has one stipulation. “I’m happy to pencil it in as long as Mama’s Big Boy is available.”

We say goodbye amid gales of laughter.

If my day was a “Jeopardy” answer it would have been this: Mornings, conference calls and Cindy Hval. The question? What are three things that should never be mixed?