When the house phone, the land line, began its maddening rendition of “Home Sweet Home,” I was dog-tired, and my wife was indisposed. So I threw off the coverlet I had on me in my recliner as I watched “Hamlet” on PBS (staged in modern dress for some reason) — with the house down to 68 Fahrenheit, I fancied I was getting a chill — and trudged over to it, just beating the message machine.

I seldom answer the blasted thing; usually my wife does. I tell myself she doesn’t mind it as much as I, but in truth she’s just far more saintly and tolerant.

To my gruff “hello” a lady’s voice told me her name and that she was calling on behalf of Bill Banning, my county councilman. For a moment I thought I detected a mechanical quality in her delivery and wondered whether it might be civil to hang up, but I realized she was just reciting this spiel over and over. I didn’t really take it in; it was all about what a fine councilman Bill had been. I’m fairly sure keeping taxes low came into it at some point. Saying one has kept taxes low is sort of the Pater Noster of Lexington County politicians; they are obliged to say it and do so automatically.

Finally, she asked whether I planned to vote for Bill. Smugly, knowing I had it in my power to satisfy her and end the call, I said “Yes.” I’ve always voted for Bill in the past, near as I could remember, so I could say this in good conscience and we would part on good terms.

She was very pleased, confirming for me with her reaction that this was not a recording. She then urged me not to forget to vote June 8 and rang off. Blast, thought I — this means a return call to remind me to vote, now that I’m on the record as one of “their” voters.

It was only later that I realized I had no idea whether I’d vote for Bill Banning or not. I knew not who was running against him — Chuck Crouch, my records tell me. I don’t recall anything about Chuck Crouch, if I’ve met him. But, knowing Bill, you’ll likely vote for him again, right? I urged myself. Well, now, I don’t really know for sure, said the stickler voice.

This leaves me with several questions:

• Did I lie to my neighbor (as neighbor she almost assuredly was)? Undoubtedly, I said something that may turn out to be untrue, although I suspect I’ll vote for Bill and all will be right in the end. But I won’t do it merely to make all right in the end, if I sincerely think the other fellow is better. I’m perverse that way. I mean, what if Chuck Crouch is Joe Riley, Lindsey Graham and Segolene Royal all rolled into one, with a bit of Daniel Patrick Moynihan thrown in for seasoning? (There’s an odd picture for you.)
• How will I find out whether he’s better? I mean, he won’t be coming in to see me for an endorsement interview. I suppose I’ll have to figure it out the way most folks always do, but I don’t know how that works exactly.
• If I did lie to my neighbor, was I aware that I might be doing so at the time? Seems not. “Lie” implies intent. I had not gone through these thought processes at the time; I thought it was a true answer. I think.
• The  thing that muddles it is that I was pleased at the time to give her an answer that satisfied her. I think I thought it was true, but did I merely seize upon it and tell myself I thought it was true to end the call?

A couple of things now occur to me. First, Kathryn was right when she said on a previous thread that Steve Benjamin may not know the objective truth of what happened in that accident. After all, that was a much more traumatic experience than my phone call, and I don’t know whether I told the truth or precisely what the truth was.

Second, I wish these people wouldn’t call me when I’m so bone-tired.