What percentage of our lives is wasted listening to this broad say this?
“The party you are trying to reach at the number you just dialed but let me repeat it back robotically and above all sloooowly to you, blah … blah … blah … blah … blah … blah … blah … blah … blah … blah … is not available. At the tone (if you can even call it a ‘tone’), record your message. In case you were wondering, after you record your message you can hang up. Or not, if you prefer to just stand there holding a dead phone to your ear, I’m not here to judge you. If you’d like to leave a call-back number just in cast the person you’re calling has the kind of cell phone in a big wooden box attached to the wall with a hand crank on the side, press such-and-such. After you leave a call-back number, you can press something else. Yours is not to reason why. If you’d like to save it in the ‘archives,’ which is certainly a highfalutin’ word for the ignorant grunts from the common riffraff you associate with, press this. If you’d like to delete this message, press this. If you’d like to do The Hokey-Pokey, put your right foot out, put your left foot back, and then press the pound sign. We just decided last week that this (#) is called a ‘pound sign.’ Press it if you know what’s good for you. If you’re experiencing a foreboding sense of existential malaise, press any key. What difference will it make when you think about it? Oh, and press this to hear more options.”
That last is for these people: “What do I press if I want a sandwich?”
Too many options is what’s sending our permissive society to hell in a hand basket.
Can’t she just say this?
“Leave a message, yo. Andale, muchachos!”
Short and to the point, plus it has Spanish in it for our friends and neighbors to the south who, after learning their native tongue, decided to take the rest of their lives off.
“Your party doesn’t seem to be answering, do they, Einstein? You might think about hanging up and trying again later. That’s what I would do but I guess that’s just me.”
“I’m sure your party will pick up any day now if you just let it ring fifty more times. Call back, already! You want me to wipe your ass for you, too?”
All of which is precisely why I only communicate these days via homing pigeon. The only down side to that is I can only talk to Mike Tyson.
He’s not the most scintillating conversationalist in person, let alone trying to decipher his inscrutable scribblings scrawled on a slip of paper and Scotch-taped to a pigeon’s ass.
At least it saves pressing the pound sign.
The statuary in my Meditation Garden is a whole other story.