I answered the store phone with our usual greeting, expecting the typical question of our store hours, when I heard "Yeah, I wuz wondrin', do y'all sell phlebotomy bags?"
I stared at the receiver, as though trying to peer through it to catch a glimpse of the woman on the other end of the line. Her voice was rather reedy and heavy with the Appalachian dialect. She sounded to be roughly a hundred years old and it was rather difficult to understand her.
"No—no Ma'am I am afraid we do not."
"Now I wuz told ya did! Meby I'm not sayin' it right. Lissen here, if you take the blood out of a person, and ya want to hold on to that blood, the bags that you use ta hold the blood in—do ya sell those?"
"No, like I said we do not. Perhaps a medical supply store? I'm not sure really."
"Well that's too bad. Talk to ya later then."
No—I really hope we don't talk again. I for one, was not about to ask her why she needed phlebotomy bags. More than likely she had to hang up the phone to go stir her cauldron again.Frankly, I did not want to be turned into a frog for asking one too many questions.