No, I only got a consistent busy signal. Alas, when we tried to call Julia back, her line was busy as well. Something definately was strange.

When I arrived at work later that afternoon, MORE strangeness awaited me. No credit nor debit cards could be used at the gas pumps. The ATM machine was down. No one could even buy lottery tickets. Only credit cards could go through for purchases, and that, only after a lengthy pause while lines were busy. The customers were not surprised to learn of the problems, for they'd encountered them earlier in the day. One young woman said she'd tried to reach her grandmother in Coolidge all day without success. WHAT had happened to turn our worlds upside down?

An hour or so later, we found out. A young dark haired man in an orange vest came in with a sheepish guilty look. He confessed he was the one responsible for shutting down communications through out several towns. He was careful to tell us it wasn't ENTIRELY his fault. No, he'd been given the WRONG location for those phone lines, so it wasn't ENTIRELY HIS fault when the fiber optic cable got cut. He did, however, assure us they were working on it, and we would have phone lines by morning.

A few minutes later, a tall older man, also wearing an orange vest, came in and bought a dozen or so large GATORADE drinks. He looked as though he was the boss in charge, and was no doubt buying them for his team of thirsty workers. They would have to work hard to repair the damage.

Now it is the morning, and yes, we have contact once again!

While at work, trying to be somewhat more lively than just a warm body, I scanned the newspaper headlines. "Communications disrupted", was the top story. ''...A contractor was making a 200 foot tunnel under a canan along Arizona 287 about two miles east of Interstate 10, est of Casa Grande'' when the fiber optics cable got cut. I hadn't considered all the implications of this the other day. ''Not only home and commercial users were affected. Police and fire communications were disrupted.'' Only the main local number and police radio worked. The 911 calls were ''rerouted to the Ak-Chin Indian Community and deputies were called by radio . . .'' This went on for twelve hours, as the location of the cut cable made repairs much more difficult and time consuming. Fortunately, ''...there were no reports this morning of emergencies not handled''.

Leave it to one little snip to make us realize how dependant we are on such technology. Fortunately though everyone was flexible and we found ways to cope.

And how did I fare at work last night? Oh, it started gruesome, all right. The head banger was in full force. But strangely, keeping my mind off the headache made it more bearable. No, I wasn't a fount of energy, but just sitting there, with nothing to focus on but how much you hurt, makes it hurt that much more worse. True, that saying that you give power to what you focus upon. I don't want to give power to each and every ache and pain. That's the surest path to being a miserable old lady some day. When I first became aware of having arthritis, it did a number on my mind. Each time a joint yelled with pain, it was like a shock. I'd never experienced anything like that before. I had to learn that giving into the pain wasn't the answer. Naturally, with reason, one has to acknowledge true changes. There'll be no lifting of 50 pound weights, mind you, but one can't win just by laying down and giving up. Perhaps this is all just part of 'growing old gracefully', or some such poppycock. I'm making notes on this, so I remember this when I really do get 'old' and 'creaky'.

Anyhow, the headache lessened its severity as my shift progressed. I was certain I'd go home and sleep the sleep of 'the righteous', but oddly, I've not felt sleepy yet.

I came home, to find a happy Julia begging for pictures. ''Aren't I as least as cute as the puppies?'' I could hardly say no to such a request:

Julia, cuter than any puppy!

It all happened so quickly. I was focusing on the oddness of a teenager covering his eyes with the visor of his baseball cap, was he of low self-esteem?, when next I knew he and his tall, thin friend were hauling big boxes of beer out the door, four big boxes with mostly red coloration.

Then it was a scramble to remember details so I could tell police. Fortunately, a customer was able to provide some of the missing details.

The night then settled back into the routineness of a slow Sunday morning. Yet, in the new day, I feel a small need to vent:

Slouchy youths in baseball caps, visor covering your eyes, right you are to cover your eyes. You cannot look anyone in the eyes. Is this how your life of crime begins? Sharing seventy bucks worth of stolen booze with a friend? Is this how it begins? Is that nasty cigarette butt flavored juice gonna make you smart? Dumb you are, and dumber you'll become.

And where's your parents on such a night? Is you Dad off, drinking some of that same stinky rot gut with his buddies? Is he too stupered to know what you're doing? If he sobers up, does he care?

Or does he think you're his perfect little angel? Or has he believed you worthless, and you're living up to his expectations? Your life begins here, kids . . .

''I want to make you understand, we're talking about a lifetime plan . . ,'' the radio singer interjects.

Is this your plan for life, kids? You want to be an old man in jail, pondering a wasted life, if you have enough brain cells left to be able to ponder?

Your life begins here, kids . . .