You, Me, We Are All Mistakes

6. HOW DO YOU EVEN BEGIN TO FIND NASA?

CHAPTER 6
HOW DO YOU EVEN BEGIN TO FIND NASA?

How do you even begin to find NASA and call them?  British Telecom's International Operator came to mind. Nelson returned to his flat, ran the tap for a glass of cold water, and sat next to the landline that his employer had insisted he install. He picked up the handset and put his finger in the dial, rotating it to begin this next stage.

Where is Cape Kennedy, or is it Canaveral? Is NASA still located there because it's always Houston having the problem?

His childhood head danced with '60s and '70s rockets, astronauts and missions. Bleakly, like many of his generation, these early '80s Space Shuttle launches were passing him by. An awareness they primarily landed in the Californian desert was the peak of his familiarity, and recent current news coverage had been very thin.

Nelson dialed 100 and asked to be put through to the International Operator. Simply asking to speak to NASA he was then directed to a US operator. With nothing but the purr of transferring calls over ticks and pops of international static in his ears, Nelson switched on the radio for distraction, meanwhile stressfully tightening the curling cable connecting his handset to its base. The radio played last year's I Could Be Happy by Altered Images and he listened to Clare Grogan catalog all of the things she would do to achieve this state of mind.

"Are you still there?" asked the next regional switchboard supervisor somewhere in the United States.

"Barely," Nelson replied.

"We're still trying."

"Yes, you are."

And then unexpectedly, "Will NASA's Public Relations department be sufficient?"

"Yes! Yes please."

"Connecting you. Have a nice day."

I could be happy; I could be happy...

After ten purrs the line was opened. As he heard a female voice, Nelson's white knuckles gripped the handset tightly and its cable was near breaking point.

"Hello," said the voice in a strong Texan drawl. "This is NASA, may I help you?"

Nelson was momentarily stunned. The answer came so calmly, defining he was through to this fabled agency.

"Certainly..." he snapped recomposing himself, clearing his throat and attempting a charming English accent.

"... certainly, you can my dear. Could you kindly tell me if you have a J. Schuger working there as Chief Scientific Officer?" Nelson checked again the signature on his recovered letter.

"J. Schuger you say, one second..."

Nelson sensed papers being flicked through at the other end of the line and a routine being established. The day had stayed clear beyond Nelson's window. The kitchen tap leaked a single drip every few seconds. It was becoming another familiar lost day towards his looming editorial deadline. He scratched the nape of his neck with a fingernail.

"...I'm sorry, but our CSO is not called Schuger. Who wants to know?"

"This is Nelson Staff speaking. Well, could you please tell..."

"Oh, hi Nelson. My name is Betty Ann Glaser. You've got a gorgeous accent Nelson."

"So have you," Nelson lied. "Now could you..."