Your eyes widen as you swerve over onto the shoulder of the expressway, nearly hitting a Jeep Cherokee in the process. It didnāt matter to you. Frantically searching the glove compartment, the backseat, and your purse, you finally find a small notepad and a pen with a low ink cartridge. You listen closely to the radio, and begin to scribble down as much as you can. You realize it was merely a pattern.
ā -. . / - .ā ā / - .ā ā / ..-. .. ..-. - -.ā
Unfortunately for you, you arenāt very well versed in translating Morse code, merely recognizing it. You reach into your purse to grab your phone, but after a moment of searching, you realize you had left it at home before you left for work. āGod damnit,ā you mutter. Youāre more than halfway to your office, and youāre already running late due to the fact that that you decided to follow some whim and jot down some cryptic message from a provocative rapper. Concluding that it would probably be best for you to mosey to work, you pull back onto the expressway and try to make it to work on time.
Upon arriving at work, you ask any coworker in sight if they know Morse code. Nobody seems to, and some donāt even know what Morse code is. You slump your shoulders in disappointment and head over to your desk, when suddenly, the quiet, mouse-like secretary clears her throat and says, āExcuse me, I know Morse code!ā
You turn around with the same wide eyes as before. āYou do!?ā you ask vigorous excitement, which seems to startle the young woman.
āYes,ā she says, āwhen I was younger, I planned on joining the navy, so I taught it to myself.ā You feel a bit sorry for her, that she wound up as a mere secretary instead of a naval officer, but that feeling of pity didnāt stop you from being grateful for the lucky coincidence of her knowing Morse code. You show her the pattern.
ā -. . / - .ā ā / - .ā ā / ..-. .. ..-. - -.ā
āThatās all there is?ā she asks, furrowing her brow.
āYeah,ā you shrugged, āit just kept repeating that over and over again. What does it say?ā
āOne, two, two, fifty.ā
Your heart sinks a little. āWhat is that? What does that mean, is it like a phone number or house address or something?ā
The secretary shrugs. āIām really sorry, I donāt know. Itās too short to be a phone number, but beyond deciphering it, Iām afraid I canāt help you.ā
You nod slowly, and though you understand, you are still not at all satisfied. You go to sit at your desk. 1 2 2 50. The sequence plays over and over in your head all day, and needless to say, your curiosity an wonderment got the best of you. It was not a very productive work day.
You head home, and the same damned song plays on the radio. You shake your head as if that would make the song stop, then decide to plug 12250 into your GPS to see if there are any autofill results. None. You become increasingly frustrated.
When you get home, your daughter is sitting at the kitchen table, working on homework. She runs up to you and gives you a big hug, and asks about your day at work. You put on a fake smile and sigh. āInteresting,ā you sayā no doubt sugarcoating the intense excitement, disappointment, and confusion.
āWill you help me with my homework? I have to memorize something for my history class tomorrow.ā
āOf course, doll! What are you memorizing?ā
She hands you a laminated sheet of paper. āRoman numerals!ā
You glance over the page, your eyes quickly darting from one, to two, to fifty.
It dawns on you. Youād recognize this pattern anywhere.
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