Phone crushes. Everyone has them. At least that’s what I tell myself when I want to justify my own. You know what I’m talking about. Those work-related calls you make when emails and texting aren’t enough for the task at hand. The ones where you and the faceless person at the end of the line connect in a way that is different from ordinary phone exchanges. It’s hard to define, but usually involves a combination of effortless conversation, lively banter, and your phone friend giving great voice. Sometimes you think it’s reciprocal, but deep inside you know it isn’t. Strangely, however, it doesn’t matter. At the end of a phone crush call, for a brief, shining moment you feel wittier, smarter and slightly more charming than you felt before.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not phone trolling for potential hook-ups. I’m married – very, very married. I’ve been happily hitched longer than some of my co-workers have graced the planet. A phone crush is spontaneous and ephemeral and usually happens with someone you know you have absolutely no chance of meeting face to face. One of my first experiences in this watered-down version of 1-900 dialing was when I was a Production Manager at a Denver advertising agency. Joshua Levy-Epstein was the Print Production Supervisor for a high-tech trade magazine in New York City. Part of my job was getting our clients’ print ads to the publications on time and to the exact specifications. This was on the cusp of the digital age, before ads could be electronically transmitted and had to be delivered via air courier in a “camera-ready” format. At the time, the agency Creative Director packed a powerful, one-two personality punch – he was a perfectionist and an asshole, and I was constantly pushing deadlines with the magazines. Hence the phone calls. I became quite adept at what is known in the ad biz as “groveling for an extension.” It’s a pathetic process that largely falls on deaf, even hostile, ears. Joshua was different. He had that iconic East Coast accent coupled with a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Our conversations never crossed over into our personal lives – he could have been 24 years old or 60, gay or married, I never asked. We talked about extended deadlines, the correct Pantone color for the logo, double truck ad specs and positioning. Still, he always listened, laughed at my jokes and would lob pithy zingers my way. Our timing was in synch and every exchange left me with a slight buzz - a buzz with the shelf life of raw chicken in the midday sun…but enough to brighten my day. Since then, I’ve had several phone crushes including a Seattle food forager, a television producer in Brazil, a graphic designer from the UK, and a New Jersey hot sauce maker. Having no reason to call my phone crushes any longer, I’ve long lost touch. I never met a single one, which is probably a good thing. Case in point: a Mediterranean Fixer who captivated a number of us at Citizen Pictures with his easy charm and self-deprecating manner. Our Unit Production Manager then met him. Turns out he was an overbearing, boorish man with questionable hygiene and even more questionable morals. For the most part however, phone crushes elevate you, like indulging in a sliver of high-end, luxury dark chocolate – satisfying and fleeting with no lasting effects.
Joshua, if you’re out there, call me.
Laurie Allen