Cassandra Tiphonie's World

…So, I’m eating some Chinese Takeout the other day…

(You should see me wield chopsticks, by the way.  I must say, I am quite adept at them.  If you’d like to learn, just look me up.  I could teach you how to use them in less than a minute, I guarantee you…)

…Anywoo, I’d finished my meal, which consisted of a lovely Mu Shu Shrimp… (a newfound taste-sensation, on my part…  Lovin’ it…)

…And so, as one would, after enjoying Chinese takeout, I cracked open my fortune cookie, and read the fortune printed on that little strip of paper…

Here’s what it said:

“YOU AND YOUR WIFE WILL BE HAPPY IN YOUR LIFE TOGETHER.”

You could have seen the questions marks and exclamation points shoot out of my forehead, if you were there.

I mean, it was like, “?!?”

Now, at the risk of offending the sensibilities of the overly-sensitive Politically Correct, let me now declare:  “I am not now, nor shall I be in the future, married to another woman…”

(…Oh, for Pete’s sake, here comes the PC cop-out disclaimer…  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that… I’m just saying it doesn’t float my boat…”)

So, I began to ponder several things at the same time– difficult when burping the odiferous cabbage of which Mu Shu consists…

1. A)  Was this a joke like “Candid Camera”?  Was someone going to step from behind a partition, chuckling, and instruct me to wave to a hidden camera?
2. B)  Was this the portentous prediction of some dreadful future dating experience so horrid that I’d actually swear off of men and  “pitch for the other team”?
3. C) Or– the more obvious explaination– that I’d just gotten the wrong fortune.  Someone’s else fortune.

I called back the restaurant and requested another fortune cookie; I explained to the man who answered the phone that there must have been some mix-up.

He was abrupt and curt.  “No mix-up,” he said.  “You don’t get another fortune cookie, lady.”  And he hung up, but not before I could hear him sigh, “Jeezy Moe,” before the phone was placed back down in the cradle.

I was not satisfied.

I wanted my fortune.  MY fortune.  And I wanted the fortune I had to go to its rightful owner.

I picked up the phone and dialed the restaurant’s number again (Oh, I know it by heart, believe you me).

This time, another person answered.  Female.

I plead my case, “Hi, this is Cassie.  Ah, I just called there about a mix-up with–”

“You got the wrong order?” she asked.

“Oh, no.  I got the right order.  And the Mu Shu was absolutely delish, it really was… but there’s seems to be a mix-up with the fortune cookie.  I got the wrong one.”

“What?”

“I got the wrong fortune.  It’s not mine.  Look, I can read it to you… It says, quote…”

“…Can I put you on hold, please?”

“…Ah… yeah…”

The male manager came back on the line after a few seconds.  He must have been agitated from the Lunch Hour rush.

“You can’t get another fortune cookie,” he said.

“But, it’s not mine!” I said.  “Now, I could drop by after work to get my fortune cookie.  When do you close?”

I must have had a bad connection, because all I got for a reply was a dial tone.

Over the afternoon I called the restaurant three more times.

The manager was quite rude by the third phone call.  “You call here no more!” he shrieked before slamming down the phone.

…Well, what was I to do?  Here I was, stuck with a fortune I couldn’t use.  It didn’t pertain to me at all…  And neither would those lucky lotto numbers printed on the back of the tiny slip of paper…

Hey!  I want my lotto numbers!  Somebody out there has MY lucky lotto numbers… and if they win…  Hey!  THAT’LL BE MY MONEY!

I decided immediately to take action.

I looked at the wrapper for the fortune cookie and got the information for the manufacturer.

I GOOGLED THEM.

I got some nervous woman in Walla, Walla, Washington to answer the phone.

Strangely, she did not sound Asian at all.  Nor did it seem that she’d gleaned any ancient knowledge whatsoever, to be in the business of dispensing people’s life-altering fortunes…

“Is there a superior there or someone in charge of the Fortunes Department that I may speak with, please?”  I asked.  I was trying to keep my voice low.  My superiors were within earshot and I was on the clock, neglecting my daily duties and running up the company’s phone bill by calling coast-to-coast during prime hours.

“Yes ma’am,” the woman droned and then the line clicked.  There was a moment of unbearable Muzak– I think it was a schmaltzy rendition of Steve Miller’s “Dream Weaver”…

The guy said his name but I didn’t catch it the first time.   It definitely sounded American though.  Like “Bob” or “Pete” or “Doug”…

I introduced myself and my dilemma:  “Hi, sir, my name is Cassandra and I’ve enjoyed fortune cookies for many, many years.  Now, sir, I don’t know if all the wonderful fortune cookies I’ve had throughout the years came from your company, but, may I say I’ve never had a problem with them up until today…”

“What seems to be the problem?” Bob or Peter or Doug asked amicably.

“I’ve seemed to have gotten someone else’s fortune.  I mean, it’s not mine.  And I’d really like to have my fortune.  It’s just the principle of the matter, really.”

Well, this must have been the first time this problem’s arisen, because Bob or Pete or Doug stammered a few seconds, struck incredulous.

“I know, right?” I lilted into the phone, to empathize with his incredulity.

“Ah… well… ma’am… this… this is highly irregular,” he stammered into the phone.  “What did it say?  Was it something explicit or–?”

“Oh, no, sir!  Nothing offensive.  It’s just not mine.  It says that, quote, ’You and Your WIFE will be happy in your life together.’”

There was a pause over the line.

“Well,” he said, “I see where you could have a problem with that.”

“Yaa-ahh!” I replied.  (At that point, I was trying to pretend I was busy for my boss who’d just walked by my cubicle by quickly opening a manila folder and pretending to jot down some important information…)

“I just want to make sure that this fortune is forwarded to its intended owner and that I get the one that’s designated for me…” I told him earnestly.

“Of course!” he said with enthusiasm.  “Why don’t you FedEx overnight us that fortune and we’ll make sure it goes right back to Distribution and we’ll have yours out to you by the next business day!”

…You don’t want to know how much I paid to ship it off to Walla Walla.

And I still haven’t gotten my fortune in the mail yet.

I have a mind to call them back and give them a piece of my mind.

Or, better yet, I’ll contact the Better Business Bureau.