I need to preface this post by saying Jamie is an upstanding, honest guy.
Usually.
But apparently he has weaknesses, as was recently evidenced when a certain massage chain started calling him in November. Only they weren’t calling him, they were asking Bob. Jamie repeatedly told them Bob did not live here but it was our phone number and our address in the computer under Bob Johnson. And a load of pre-paid massages.
Shortly before Jamie’s birthday, they called him again telling him that he (a.k.a. Bob) hadn’t had a massage in months and his credits were about to expire.
Jamie explained the mix-up but the therapist didn’t care who took them. “Well, someone needs to use these up by the end of the year.”
And so Bob did. Or at least Jamie did in his name. Yep, that’s right people. For Jamie’s 41st birthday, he treated himself to a massage (or in his words, “a birthday miracle”). When he arrived at his appointment, he hung out in the waiting room for a while when the therapist called his name. And then called it again. Suddenly, Jamie tuned in. They were calling for Bob. “That’s ME!!!!” he said not-so convincingly.
I thought this little trespass was behind us until that same massage chain called me last week asking for (who else) Bob.
“Bob isn’t available,” I carefully said.
“Well, tell him there is a problem with the appointment he made on Saturday. His favorite therapist Cara isn’t available.”
“Oh.”
“So, what should we do? Switch him to another therapist?”
“Um, I’m not sure.”
“Well, if we don’t hear back from Bob we’ll assume that’s OK.”
“Sounds good.”
Looks like the real Bob will be in for a little surprise when he shows up for his appointment this weekend.
And I didn’t even get a massage out of it.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 