Hangups

I guess I have my share of hangups. I know some people who have devised personal rules for nearly every aspect of their lives and begin many sentences with "I always" or "I never."

I seldom do that.

But I do have one rule that has served me well when it comes to hanging on to some shred of dignity and self-respect: If somebody hangs up on me, I don't call back. If someone chooses to terminate a conversation rudely, I respect that choice. Permanently.

What's more tragic than the guy who's hung up on and phones back, only to be hung up on again? No thanks. And if you call back after that, you're basically a stalker. My advice to all of you young men who are reading this looking for relationship advice is, don't be that guy.

Once a woman hung up on me. It was Valentine's Day. I might--might, mind you--have been being clingy, or an asshole. I don't remember. I do remember that I picked up the phone and dialed about six of her numbers on pure adrenaline. Then I put the receiver down and left it down. Let her call me. If she doesn't, okay.

A couple of weeks later, I gathered up her stuff--a garment or two, some CDs, toothbrush, whatever--and left it on her porch. A few days after that, my stuff--books and a shirt, I think--arrived on my porch. And that was that. I didn't see her for another couple of years. She had my number; all she had to do was pick up the phone.

But it was her call to make, not mine.

Later on I'll tell you about running into her on High Street years later.