I have been carrying around this very large conch shell, but the sea has not called yet.

I have been carrying around this very large conch shell that I purchased at the airport in Jamaica, but the sea has not called yet.

I thought that, perhaps, keeping the shell tucked under my arm was interfering with its ability to receive mobile service, so I put it down on the stoop of my apartment building. A rat must have been watching me, because it appeared out of nowhere, crawled into my shell, and escaped with its new home like a foul, urban hermit crab.

I have been carrying around this very large spiny shell that I purchased at the gift shop in the Museum of Natural History, but the sea has not called yet.

I thought that, perhaps, carrying the shell at arm's length so as not to be pricked by its spines was preventing me from hearing it ring, so I put it down next to me on a bench near the dog run. A very large woman sat down on the shell, and now she is suing me.

I have been carrying around this very large shell sign I stole from the gas station on the corner of 96th & 1st, but the sea has not called yet.

I thought that, perhaps, hiding the sign under my coat as I ran from the station owner was distracting me from picking up calls, so I put the shell down in Carl Schurz park. Now I am operating an illegal gas station behind a stand of trees next to Gracie Mansion.

The sea never did call, but the East River did. And often. The river sounds like Danny DeVito and smells like him too. Sometimes, when the shell is ringing, I think it might be the sea. But it's always the East River.

I need a vacation.