Barfing in the Backseat by Henry Winkler, Lin Oliver Read Free Book Online Page A

I shoved the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and flashed my dad a big smile.
    “Why aren’t you exploring the tongue?” he asked.
    “Well, Mr. Z., Hank and I wanted to learn all about the taste receptors first, before we actually slid down the tongue,” Frankie said, pointing to a list of facts.
    “We’re trying to take this educational experience seriously,” I joined in.
    “Did you know, Mr. Z., that the average tongue has ten thousand taste buds on it?” Frankie said.
    “That’s the number of fans that can fit into the left outfield section at a Mets game,” I threw in. I liked the sound of that. My dad did, too.
    “It’s nice that you boys are taking all this information in,” he said.
    “Maybe you can use that piece of info in one of your crossword puzzles, Dad. Wouldn’t that be something?”
    “Speaking of which, I have the crossword puzzle from the Richmond newspaper right here, which I plan to work on while you kids explore,” he said. “That’s the great thing about travel, boys. There’s a new crossword puzzle in every city.”
    Happy as a baby clam in salt water, my dad strolled off to the coffee bar to attack his new puzzle.
    “Okay,” I said to Frankie. “Let’s go hide behind the tongue and get this call made. I don’t think my dad can see us if we sit on the tonsil.”
    Frankie followed me to the back area of the giant tongue. I thanked my lucky stars that it was plastic and wasn’t real, so we didn’t have to be dodging spit and already-been-chewedpeanut butter patties. That would have been disgusto.
    “Dial information and ask for the number of the Comfort-For-U Motel in Washington, D.C.,” Frankie said.
    As I dialed, I was already panicked, because I’m not good at remembering numbers thrown at me by an operator. I hear them, I repeat them, and I forget them all in the same instant. But I want to say a huge thanks here for the Great Automated Voice in the cell phone, who not only gave me the number, but connected me to it. Thank you, Great Automated Voice. You are a goddess. And I mean that sincerely.
    I held the phone up to my ear. The guard at the door was watching us very carefully. I could tell he didn’t like the two of us using the tonsil as a phone booth.
    I held the phone to my ear. Frankie moved his ear in as close as he could, trying to hear.
    The phone rang once. Twice.
Oh please, someone pick up.

S OMEONE DID PICK UP.
    But it was the wrong number.
    The Great Automated Voice had given me the Comfort-For-U Motel in Lubbock, Texas!
    Great Automated Voice, I take back what I said.
    You are not a goddess.
    As a matter of fact, you aren’t very good at your job.
    No offense.

T HE NEXT TIME, we didn’t let the Great Automated Voice dial for us. I insisted that Frankie handle the whole dialing business. When you’re calling long distance, there are a lot of numbers involved, and as I think you understand by now, numbers and I don’t get along.
    When the person on the other end answered, Frankie said, “Is this the Comfort-For-U Motel in Washington, D.C.?”
    I couldn’t hear the answer, but it must have been yes, because Frankie handed me the phone.
    “The dude talks weird,” Frankie whispered, covering the phone so the guy on the other end couldn’t hear.
    “Weird how?”
    “Weird, you’ll see.”
    “Hello,” I said, taking the phone and tryingto sound way older than eleven. “This is Hank Zipzer here. You might remember me. We stayed in room 319 last night.”
    “
Excusez-moi
, monsieur,” the man said. “Excuse me, but I do not remember every guest and their particular room number.”
    Boy, he
did
sound weird. He sounded like Luke Whitman doing his lame impression of a waiter in a French restaurant. I wondered if that accent was for real.
    “Trust me, monsieur,” I said, giving him back a little of the old French accent, “we were there, and loved your establishment. And now I need a favor.”
    “That is what I am here for, monsieur,”