The phone rings.
“Yes, hello?” I say, practicing my radio DJ voice, deep and mellifluous.
An accented and agitated female asks an odd question: “Who’s bacon?” It’s Agent Starling! But why is she asking for bacon? It’s not even breakfast time.
“Who’s bacon?” I say back to her. While there are no doubt hundreds of witty responses one might employ when a caller asks, “Who’s bacon,” exactly none of them came to mind. I did wonder if this was a Hannibal reference — maybe she’d stumbled across a serving of hickory smoked bias-cut while on the trail of Hannibal Lecter and wondered about the source. That is, maybe the question wasn’t “Who owns that bacon,” but “Who is that bacon?” But in the moment, as now, I was unable to distill that joke into a pithy 3-4 words.
“Who’s baking?” she said, somewhat more clearly. I marvel that I’m discussing breakfast foods with a Hollywood celebrity.
“Ahh, baking. I might be, later, but…” I can’t imagine how she would know that. Is there a camera crew shooting through my kitchen window? I imagine the operator zooming in on a jar of sourdough starter bubbling quietly on the sink while television viewers worldwide sit on the edges of their seats, listening to my baffled responses through a crackly satellite link to the broadcast station. “Can I ask who’s calling?”
Alas, she didn’t own up to being Clarice Starling, or even Jodie Foster. She muttered something about dialing the wrong number — a likely story! — and hung up on me.