April 6th, 2000
Somewhere around the first sock in the toilet that flooded my
bathroom, my patience began to fade. I am not a friendly person. The only folks I currently invest any tolerance
in are the one's I feel might be responsible for keeping my off the nursing home circuit someday.
A ringing phone is met with much anticipation at my home. I am forever dreaming of the day Nicolas Cage or Antonio
Banderes come to their senses, recognize me for the domestic Goddess I truly am, and give me a call.
"Good Afternoon Miss...blah blah blah."
Nothing impresses me more on a good solicitation call then someone incapable of pronouncing even the simplest of
"I am very excited to be calling you..."
With a life as dismal as this I imagine they are excited they are not swinging from a noose in their living room.
"Today we are offering a complete one year subscription to our local paper for the unbelievable price of $35.99."
"Do you have a Braille edition?"
"After that horrible pop-tart accident that left me blinded in my right eye, I just can't read anymore. I
am so excited that you called! I feel so shut off. If you don't have Braille, do you offer a reading program? In
fact, can you just call me first thing every morning and read the paper to me? I WANT YOU TO BE MY FRIEND!"
This even follows me to the office.
"Good afternoon, have I reached a home or a business?"
"Let's go on the assumption you reached a business, shall we? The dead giveaway to that fact is, if I were
home, I would have answered with my trademarked, "Oh my God, I have four children would someone please shoot
me!" answer. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I'm calling on your photo copier. I just need the serial number so we can confirm your order."
How dense do they think I am?
"We have no copier. We use the same piece of carbon paper over and over and over. But the goat ate our only
pencil. Do you sell any of those?"
"Good afternoon Mrs. Blahblah. This is Bill! I would like to sell you a spot in our timeshare condominium
in Florida! I bet that would help you look forward to the weekends, huh?"
"Bill. Forget the weekends. I have four kids. At this point of my life, I'm looking forward to my coffin."