I just fielded a call for my boss (of course it was for him--who would call me?) from this guy my boss had blown off yesterday because he couldn't remember who it was. I had to go online and Google the man's name, and still all I could come up with was that he appeared to own a number of muffler shops. That piece of information didn't hike the guy up high enough for Paul to actually call him back, so I got to dodge him again today.

So the man called again, trying to set up a time to talk to Paul, which I successfully prevented. Apparently though, I was sufficiently courteous that the man thanked me, asked me my name, commented on it at length in an incoherent way and then invited me to come see his "artworks."

He called back about two minutes after we had hung up, stumbling over his words and apologizing, asking the spelling of my name. "I am so sorry," he offered, "My two friends here... I am sorry. You see, I grew up on streets of U.S." (Right)

He went on about his "artwork" and his "creative mind" for a while, until I fake-politely bulldozed over him with the correct spelling of my name. This pleased him. "Ah!" he said, "Yes! One of my two friends here spelled it correctly..."

My sense of self-protectiveness engulfed any curiosity I may have had about his "two friends," and I made him get off the phone.

I cannot guess at the types of fumes that may have been swirling around in whatever bare-cement-floored muffler shop office he was calling from, but: Guy! Get some fresh air, soon!

Star of the day. . .The guys on "Car Talk"