“Hi Gramps,” said the voice. “Am I glad you’re home — help!”
“Who is this,” I replied, not immediately recognizing the voice.
“It’s ____,” he said. “You don’t recognize your grandson?”
We made some small talk, and then I asked, “Are you back from vacation?”
“No! That’s the problem. On the way to the airport, the taxi went through a red light. A cop pulled us all over and now we’re all arrested at the American embassy.”
The little voice inside of me said, “I’m not sure that this is _____.”
Then he said, “I need $500 wired to me here or I’ll have to spend 10 days in jail.”
“Hold on,” my increasingly doubtful self said. “10 days for what? Were you driving?”
“No but that’s what they’re telling me here.”
Seriously puzzled, I decided to get the core. “Have you talked to your brother or your parents?”
“They’re all away,” he countered. “That’s why I need your help.”
This, I thought, is one colossal lie. My real grandson spoke to his folks last night, and he doesn’t have a brother.
Besides, none of my grandchildren call me gramps.
“You lie,” I said. “Who is this, really?”
He hung up!
Like I said, not this time!