"What are you, some kinda idiot??"

As I recently wrote, "it's all jam;" loosely translated, we're all one, and those things we deem so dire are usually, in actuality, nothing worth wasting energy on in the grand scheme of things. An encounter this past weekend perfectly illustrated this point:

On Saturday, I called a department store to check their hours. I dialed 212, 439 ... (when it should have been 212, 489 ...) I was a mere digit off from perfection. A woman answered the phone with an abrupt "hheelloo??"

Realizing this store would surely have an automated greeting, I said, "Oh I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number." I hung up the phone.

Subsequently, I contacted the store and obtained the necessary information. About 10 minutes later, I see a "Private Number" calling. Curiously, I answered. "Hello?"

"Hi," a woman said gruffly. I vaguely recognized the voice. "Who is this and why are you calling my number?" I stammered a bit, and said, "I don't understand, who is this?" I did not yet realize it was the woman I mistakenly dialed with trying to reach H & M.

She angrily said, "I'm not playing that game with you! I'm not giving any information. I don't know why you dialed a number out of state!"

"Ma'am, there's really no need to be rude," I said, now realizing it was the troll I dialed by accident and spoke with, a mere 10 minutes earlier.

As I began to explain, she cut me off with, "WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KINDA IDIOT!!??" and slammed the phone down.

My initial reaction was one of fury. How dare she say those nasty things to me? And what is she, living under a rock?? With ubiquitous cell phone usage in a very large and diverse city, other area codes - aside from the local '917' '718' '347,' etc. - are inevitable! Here she saw "440" and thought I was dialing out-of-state when in fact, I probably live just blocks from her in Manhattan.

The idea of "jam" began to permeate my brain and my thought process shifted. She didn't do this TO ME; in fact, it has nothing to do with me. I have never met this woman, and probably never will; I have no idea what her life is all about. For all I know, she may have hung the phone up on me and went to kiss her sleeping grandchildren.

Maybe she's all alone. Maybe she hasn't been laid in a really long time. Maybe she's a loving and devoted, mother, wife, and PTA president that I happened to catch on a bad day. Or, maybe she really is a heinous bitch that loves to cut people down.

What's beautiful about this story, ironically, is the idea that people cross our paths in this life all the time. Some stay for awhile, others are fleeting and leave virtually no memory imprint. Others become friends, lovers, teachers; others yell at us on the phone when we've dialed a wrong number. For whatever reason, the universe brought this woman and I together last Saturday, in an undesirable capacity, but nevertheless our lines crossed, both literally and figuratively.

Sometimes that's all we get with people - that spilt second of elevated emotion - and then we resume the current of our own lives. I wish it was more pleasant, but maybe that's just how it was supposed to be with her, and again, I cannot blame myself or nor ask "How dare she?" Her story began long ago, is still going on, and will continue. I was a minute detail; a spec of dust on the image of her life, and vice versa.