Thursday, May 03, 2007

Phone Sux...

I got so pwned today, it's not even teh funny. I was two minutes away from corralling the spawn inside for dinner, when a mom from down the street strolled by with her daughter. I said hi and she said, "Oh, hey, can I ask you something?" I knew I was fucked right there. The question was, "how fucked." Did she want me to bake something for school? That wouldn't be too bad, I reckon. Did she want me to supervise some class art project. Been there -- shitty but not the end of the world. But no, she had a special request.

She asked if I would do some fucking phone-tree thing next week before the voting for the school board. PHONES! ME! I hate talking on the fucking phone -- especially to people I don't know about shit I don't understand. Sure, it's a good cause -- there's this bond thing that people need to vote for so the school can buy a bunch of new computers and shit. Great... I totally support it. But godfuckingshitcock, now I'm gonna have to cold-call all the parents in Miss O's kindergarten class and tell them why they need to get their asses to the polls and vote. Oh, and did I mention that I couldn't say "No, sorry I can't help you" to this mom because she's nine months pregnant and the thing's about to drop any goddamn day?

I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, but I have this phone issue that I've had since fucking forever. Hell, I literally used to pay my sister, when we were kids, to call and make haircut appointments for me... in high school. The Old Lady's constantly getting on my ass, and rightly so, for making her call for all the kids' appointments and shit. I mean, I'm getting better at it, but I practically dump in my drawers every time I need to make an orthodontist appointment for Mr. Z.

I'm not sure when it all started. Its genesis may have occurred once, when I was trying to order Chinese food for my family back in junior high. I think my parents were out, or something, and my brother and sister made me call. As I was straining to understand the broken English of the (most-likely multi-lingual) order-taker on the phone, my asshole (and apparently racist) siblings were pulling a Rosie O'Donnell and mimicking the likely conversation with some "Would you like egglorr"s and "How 'bout some flied lice"s. I remember laughing so hard that I was unable to finish the order, handing the phone to my sister and running out of the room. Of course, my laughter stemmed from nervousness and the inappropriateness of the situation, and not from me finding any humor whatsoever in their callous mockery of a hard-working immigrant. Those heartless bastards... no wonder my parents love me the most.

Anyfuck, now I have to relive this adolescent nightmare once again, and cold-call a buncha strangers, begging them to "get out the vote." I'll probably just call while naked in the bathtub, so when someone asks a question I'm unprepared for and I inevitably shit myself, I'll at least be able to hose-off quickly when I'm done.

Hey, maybe if I were to get Mr. Z a new video game, he'd make the calls for me. Never too early to teach the boy about participatory democracy!


Shannon said...

Hey, you're not alone. I wouldn't say my phobia is as bad as yours, but I'll avoid the phone as much as I can. Email has saved my sanity. Even my hair stylist takes appointments by email now. The trait is apparently genetic, at least in my family, because none of us like to talk on the phone. It has made us a rather cold and distant family, but I guess that's better than calling one of them up.

Marty said...

I can attest to Shannon's phone phobia.

Jon said...

Okay, I hate the phone more than anyone on the planet. I don't like answering it and I don't like calling people on it. Now that we have email, shouldn't we be ditching the phone entirely?

Whenever I do have to call someone, I pray I get voicemail. In fact, sometimes I call at a time when I know that I'll get voicemail.

I like my cell phone because I can text message people instead of calling them.

nora said...

I'm in on the phone phobia list also.
I hate talking on the telephone.
Maybe that is why I didn't have many friends in high school...or a boyfriend now...

It gets in the way of work sometimes. We have 450 volunteers most of them over 60 years old -- and not e-mailers.
It also makes writing about musicians hard. Phone interviews freak me out so much that I can't take sensible notes.

Thank God for voicemail, e-mail, text messages and sticky notes.
I think I'm the only person I know that has never 'drunk dialed.'

Is Mr. Z for hire (not for drunk dialing, but the other stuff)?

Jon said...

Okay, hiring a child to drunk dial is one of the funniest things I've ever heard.

I imagine the kid being all groggy because it's 3am and their bedtime is 8pm. Drunk person in the background, whispering shit for the kid to say.

Drunk: "Tell him he's a real fucker and I'm better off without him."

Child (to drunk): "My mommy says I can't say that word. It's bad and it makes God sad."

Drunk: "Say it!"

Child: "I don't want to get in trouble."

Drunk: "SAY IT!"

Child: "Can't I just say 'Poopy Head' instead?"

Drunk: "No. It doesn't have the same effect."

Child (into phone): "The lady here wants me to use the f word and I'm scared."

crabbydad said...

Phonophobes of the world unite! I say bring back morse code. Better yet, I'm getting one of those TTY machines that deaf people use on the phone. It's like phone e-mail. I'm checking ebay.

And Jon, your hypothetical "scenario" sounds eerily realistic... have you been forcing the elderly residents of your job to do your drunk dialing. If not, will you... and will you record it?

Jon said...

Ha. The elderly cuss more than anyone and at the drop of a hat. I've heard an old lady curse their own parents when she dropped a cookie on the floor. They're only cleanmouthed when their families are visiting (which is rarely).

I have a feeling most of them would punch the script up. "Might I suggest a liberal use of the word 'dickhole' in this paragraph. Also, you could probably show your anger more effectively by peppering sentences eight and nine with the word 'shitbird'."

Ah, I'm going to miss the old c*ntbags.