With his new found knowledge of the best search engine for all his business and personal needs, Sylvester Denny turned toward Dawson’s face; and, according to most accounts, asked “What ever shall we Bing® first?”
“We should probably search up some people who sound like they know a boatload o’ facts about feelings’ true meaning.” Dawson responded, placidly.
“I guess, like, if my name was an anagram of ‘the true meaning of feelings’, I’d probably get asked about it a bunch, and grow weary of not being able to answer people that well, so I’d probably look stuff up to get all better informed up.” Said Sylvester, put off by Dawson’s placidity.
“Neat idea. Let’s pursue that to the best of our abilities.” ~Dawson Filter, via speech.
The two male Caucasians sat in mid-to-deep thought for a considerable amount of time, trying to find anagrammatic names for “the true meaning of feelings”, when they were interrupted by the rock ‘n’ roll musician to Dawson and Sylvester’s right and left, respectively.
“I was reading your thoughts”, he said, “and I thought you should know that ‘Gigi’ can be spelled with a double ‘e’, instead of the second ‘i'”
“Oh, I feel happiness!” Squealed Sylvester, blinking between every-other syllable .
“Pernimius!” Dawson bellowed, lapsing into Latin in this moment of triumph. “What name have you found, waiter-boy?”
“Luther Gigee F. Mansete-O’Finn!” Sylvester replied, so giddily that he neglected to include a verb in his otherwise flawless sentence.
“The poor man.” The rocker lamented.
The computer’s keys submitted to Dawson as he bopped them; and shortly after, the name of the man whose name was the name of the man appeared on the monitor. Bing® took it gladly; and offered up a pleasant blue list of entries concerning everyone unfortunate enough to be named Luther Gigee F. Mansete-O’Finn. Of everyone in the restaurant, only two people had any idea that so many people had the name:a twelve year old girl who had shortly before made a multimedia presentation on the epidemic, and an eleven year old boy who was in her class.
“Let’s telephone ’em all.” Suggested the rocker, who seemed to believe that he had been inducted into the group by sitting with it for five hours.
“We should get their workplace numbers, so we seem less stalker-esq.” Sylvester said, improvising his final suffix.
“That looks like a pretty workplace-y one.” The Dawson-Filter-est member of the fellowship said, pointing to the number reading “1-800-REALFUN”. He motioned for Sylvester to grab the telephone sitting in a ‘World’s Best World’ mug. Sylvester did just as he was told; and proceeded to take the initiative to dial the number.
“Luther’s Fountains of Youth, how’s your day, and what can we sell you?” A voice from the telephone and beyond asked.
“May I speak with the manager?” Asked Sylvester, dodging both of the man’s questions.
“If I had to guess.” Replied the voice flatly.
“Is this the manager yet?” Said Sylvester, deciding to base his side of the conversation entirely on questions.
“Yes.” The same voice replied, just as flatly as before.
“What’s the true meaning of feelings?” Sylvester inquired.
“Not enough letters.” Stated Sylvester, smacking his face as punishment for not asking enough of a question.
“Just buy a fountain, or hang up.”
“You hang up. I mean, why don’t you hang up?” ~Sylvester Denny
“I’m not allowed to.”
“You’re the manager.” Said Sylvester, deciding to give up his question vow.
“But the book says not to hang up. Ever.”
“Thanks for the tip. This isn’t on my phone bill.” Sylvester told Lester, leaving the phone on the breakfast and midday snack shop counter. Remembering that he liked the shop quite a bit more than phone companies, he turned back to the telephone; and told himself that he had probably learned a valuable lesson from the exchange.