On The Phone Dominic Rattles Off A List
Okay, so picture this: I'm at my local coffee shop, right? The kind with mismatched chairs and a suspiciously strong Wi-Fi signal. I'm trying to enjoy my lukewarm latte (because, let’s be honest, they’re never actually hot) when I overhear the most epic phone conversation.
It's this guy, Dominic. Loud enough to rival a foghorn, but in a sort of charming, theatrical way. He’s on the phone, rattling off a list. Not just any list, mind you. This was a magical, almost mythical list. I swear, if I hadn't been holding my latte, I would have dropped it.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it! Number one: Unicorn tears. Gotta be ethically sourced, Brenda! I’m not supporting any unicorn sweatshops.”
Must Read
I almost choked. Unicorn tears? Ethically sourced? Is this guy auditioning for a role in a Terry Pratchett novel?
He pauses, presumably listening to Brenda. “Okay, okay, good point. Sustainable unicorn agriculture. Got it. Next! Number two: Dragon scales. Preferably not from a dragon currently experiencing existential angst. Makes them brittle, you know?”
I’m pretty sure my jaw actually dropped this time. Dragon scales? Brittle from existential angst? I didn’t even know dragons had existential angst! (Although, thinking about it, guarding gold for centuries…that would probably get old.)
He continues, oblivious to the fact that he’s single-handedly providing entertainment for half the café.
“Number three: The lost city of Atlantis's municipal building permit. Don’t ask. Just get it. And make sure it's properly notarized. Apparently, they were sticklers for bureaucracy even when sinking.”
Okay, now I’m starting to think Dominic might be certifiably bonkers. Atlantis’s municipal building permit? Notarized? What on earth is this guy planning? Building a theme park? Summoning Cthulhu? Honestly, both seemed equally plausible at this point.
He takes a deep breath, and I can practically feel the anticipation building. What could possibly top unicorn tears, dragon scales, and ancient underwater paperwork?
“Number four: A jar of genuine, pre-digital-age, analog pixie dust. The new stuff is just… lacking. Doesn’t have that authentic sparkle, you know? Like comparing a real diamond to cubic zirconia.”
Analog pixie dust. Analog pixie dust. I'm pretty sure that's not even a thing. But Dominic was so earnest, so completely convinced of the importance of this list, that I almost believed him. I mean, who am I to question the authenticity of pixie dust sparkle?
He goes on. The list continues. It includes things like: A lock of Medusa's hair (apparently, she uses special conditioner now, so it’s not quite as dangerous), a signed photograph of Bigfoot (difficult to authenticate, apparently), and the instruction manual for building a golem (requires a lot of clay). It was the most bizarre, hilarious, and strangely compelling list I’d ever overheard.
But here's the kicker: after about ten minutes of this, he sighs dramatically. “And finally, number five: The ingredients for my grandma's famous apple pie. I keep losing the darn recipe!”
Wait. What? Unicorn tears, dragon scales, lost city permits… all that, and the real reason for the frantic phone call was… an apple pie recipe? I almost spat out my latte (again).
The sheer absurdity of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. Here was this guy, seemingly on a quest to collect the most fantastical items imaginable, and his ultimate goal was just to bake a pie. It was beautiful. It was ridiculous. It was perfectly, wonderfully human.
He spent the next five minutes haggling over the exact ratio of cinnamon to nutmeg, and whether Granny Smith or Honeycrisp apples were superior. Apparently, Brenda had some strong opinions on the matter.
I left the coffee shop with a smile on my face. Dominic’s list, in all its ridiculous glory, reminded me that life is often a bizarre mix of the mundane and the magical. You might be chasing unicorns one minute and arguing about apple pie the next. And that’s okay. That’s more than okay. That’s what makes it interesting.
So, the next time you’re feeling overwhelmed by the everyday grind, remember Dominic and his list. Embrace the absurdity. Seek out the sparkle. And maybe, just maybe, try baking a pie. You never know where it might lead you.
And if you happen to see Dominic, tell him I've got some "ethically sourced" glitter that might pass as pixie dust in a pinch. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.