Around lunchtime last week, I noticed I had six missed calls. A sudden charge of fear shot through me: Who died? Where’s my car? Is my apartment building on fire?
I relaxed when I saw it was just my old college friend, “Murph.” Murph obviously had something to tell me that couldn’t wait. Maybe he finally married that girlfriend of his in Vegas? Maybe he was in jail? I called him back; it only took a half a ring for him to pick up. No pleasantries from Murph that day. He was all business.
“Quick. Are you at your computer?” he asked. I was.
“I need the phone number to the Kenyan Embassy.”
I could tell from his voice he was absolutely serious. But I couldn’t help but jive him a little.
“Are you involved in some sort of international crisis, Murph?”
“Just Google Kenyan Embassy and give me the phone number. Seriously, please.”
I quickly gave Murph the number and spent the rest of the day trying to figure out why in God’s name he needed that information.
I called him back later to get filled in on the details. Turns out he was finalizing his resume to bring to a second job interview for a position he desperately wanted. Unbeknownst to me, Murph had a brief internship with the Kenyan Embassy and had forgotten the last names of his supervisors. Because a few years had passed, and the last names…
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