Brrring-Brrring-Brrring. We are sitting down at dinner, and the phone explodes off the wall. Well not really, but it is seriously unhappy. I get up and dutifully check the caller ID.
It says “Private Caller,” so I figure it is John Beresford Tipton Jr. about to offer me a million dollars, or given inflation, Warren Buffett with a billion. So I pick up.