It is important to not be the last person on the Vietnamese delegate's call list. He has not quite gotten the hang of his iphone, and as such, is prone to accidental dialing of that last person at strange and often inopportune moments.

My phone rang this Friday evening, and the Vietnamese delegate's picture popped up (actually, this, which conveys the general idea, except with significantly more cuteness). I answered, and was treated to the muffled sounds of someone else's conversation, along with unidentified rustlings. The Vietnamese pants pocket dialer had struck again. I sat and listened for a while, and the call ended after about 2 minutes (what can I say, I was bored), and I got on with my evening, which included mowing the lawn of the PRL embassy and watching the neighborhood children ride their electric wheelchair up and down the street.

An hour later, the phone rang again, and again it was the delegate from Vietnam's pants. Not content to be a passive listener any more, I struck up a conversation with the pocket. Mostly this consisted of yelling "HELLO POCKET! PANTS!" over and over again, but there was also some discussion of the merits of frequent lint removal, and whether or not pockets like forming errant receipts into wadded up nuggets of cellulose in the wash (it turns out that that is a highlight of a pocket's week).

Eventually, I grew bored of yelling "PANTS" at the top of my lungs, and the children in the electric wheelchair had started crossing to the other side of the street when passing the PRL embassy, so I gave up and set the phone on the table, to let the call run its course. Twenty two minutes and one second later, the pants finally terminated the call, and haven't called back since. Perhaps the bowl of grapefruit on the table said something offensive in my absence.