It is my personal belief that the name Heather Mathews is amongthe most intriguing of proper names. Granted, I probably only thinkthis because Heather Mathews is, in fact, my own name.
Considering the fact that my name is one of the greatest names,I have always wondered what other people with the same captivatingname as mine are like. Are they fascinating? Are they strange? Arethey old, young or addicted to methamphetamines? I could list myquandaries for days.
In light of the mystery that is Heather Mathews, I have decidedto dedicate my journalistic and social talents to answering all ofmy unanswered questions. This article is dedicated to finding thetruth behind the fa�ade: who is Heather Mathews?
I have begun my search for the true Heather Mathews by lookingup all the phone numbers listed to a Heather Mathews in the UnitedStates. I called a few of the numbers and received some veryinteresting responses.
I was on the phone calling Heather Mathewses for over an hourbefore a person actually answered the phone. The huge amount ofHeather Mathewses with disconnected phone lines truly frightens me.I worry about what may have happened to them.
When I finally got ahold of someone they turned out to be notHeather Mathews, but instead to be the secretary for the owner of acompany called Bonded Lightning.
The secretary’s name was Connie and she informed me that BondedLightning is located in Tequesta, Fla., and is one of the nationsleading suppliers in lightning rods, sold mostly to airports andresidential homes.
I had a nice little conversation with Connie and found out sheis a fifty-two year old woman with a sixteen-year-old son who justrecently got his driver’s license. Connie has been working atBonded Lightning for just over four years and says, “It’s just ajob.”
I don’t think I had ever put any serious thought into lightningrods before conversing with Connie. Just goes to show how somethingthat is so insignificant to me can be a staple in someone else’slife.
After chatting it up with Connie for a few minutes I decided itwas time to continue my search for the real Heather Mathews.
A man named Jim answered my next call. When I politely asked tospeak with Heather he replied, “I’m her tile guy.”
I was not quite sure how to respond to this so I simply asked,”What are you tiling?”
“Her counter tops,” he replied.
It then hit me that carpenters or tile guys are usually in noposition to be answering the phones of their employers. So I askedhim if he always answered Heather’s phone when she was unavailableand he said, “I have been waiting for a call.”
I told him I’d call her back.
It is my suspicion however, that Jim is not really her tile guy,but most likely the lover she is hiding from her unsuspectingspouse.
After talking to Heather’s tile guy/ lover, I moved on to callthe number of yet another Heather Mathews.
Finally I felt a sense of victory; Heather was home.
I began my conversation with Heather by telling her I was astudent at PSU and asked her if she would not mind chatting with medespite the topic’s obscurity.
Heather agreed to put up with my somewhat intrusive questioningand informed me that she is a student. Heather is studying for hergrad degree in art history at the University of Texas in Austin.She is thirty-two years old and is married.
One piece of information Heather bestowed upon me that I willmost likely value for the rest of my life is this: Texans do infact refer to one another as “Bubba.”
I was relived to find out that the title Bubba is actually usedin Texas because that means I am not an ignorant Northwesternerbut, instead, a culturally minded individual.
After hours of calling numbers looking for the real HeatherMathews, I have come the mind that there is a little HeatherMathews in all of us. But the search must go on for her true andabsolute self.