A Clean Signal

I heard your rapid barrage of greetings and numbers loud and clear. Not dumb, just patient. To make sure we keep a clean line of communication, I marched over to the entryway table where everyday items land. There was an old yellow plastic notepad and a wooden pencil lying flat. I gripped the thick pencil with both hands, dragged the graphite tip across a corner of scrap paper, and firmly marked down an '87' of my own right beside your check. Standing ground here by the doorway gives a clear view of incoming traffic.