867-5309
So yesterday I got 12 voice mails. Who gets 12 voice mails? Oh, people with lives. So, I thought, does this mean that I have a life? Then I counted that 5 of the 12 were just hang-ups. So, in actuality, I really only got 7. Does this still constitute as having a life? Perhaps. Hey, for all of you that have lives, I must say, it’s kinda nice.
You know how with certain people, it’s sometimes hard to have a conversation flowing on the phone? (I almost wrote conversate. Conversate is not a word. Add that to my list of word use pet peeves. Only nerds have word use pet peeves, but whatever. Since we’re on it, impact* sucks when used as a verb.)
*The dictionary labels the word impact as a noun and a verb, but I personally despise hearing “blah blah blah impacted me…” If you go to dictionary.com, it says something about 95% of word nerds disagree with the word being used as a transitive verb. I agree with the nerds.
But back to the voice mail. How do you feel about that? I don’t particularly like to leave them especially if I don’t have something profound to say. I don’t like leaving nonsense ones like, “Hi, it’s me.” And that’s it. Not that I’m doing strenuous work by pushing 7 to delete, but you know what I mean. And I feel like I shouldn’t have to waste anyone else’s finger energy deleting my messages, so I don’t leave voice mail. Know what I mean? Unless, I have to say something important, like, “I’m standing by the highway, I’m stuck in a snow storm, my car’s flipped over and is lying in a mangled mess in a ditch, and I am cold. Get me now.” And then I have to call back anyway and say, “Oh yeah, please get me now, I mean…”
Have you ever intentionally given some random guy a wrong number? I’ve always wanted to try giving out 867-5309, but I fear the karmic retribution that goes with that. I have a hard time saying “No you can’t have my number.” Not very many people ask for it, so you’d think it’d be easy to say no a few times, but I can’t.
It's -9 outside and that Christmas song, "Baby it's cold outside...." is stuck in my head.
You know how with certain people, it’s sometimes hard to have a conversation flowing on the phone? (I almost wrote conversate. Conversate is not a word. Add that to my list of word use pet peeves. Only nerds have word use pet peeves, but whatever. Since we’re on it, impact* sucks when used as a verb.)
*The dictionary labels the word impact as a noun and a verb, but I personally despise hearing “blah blah blah impacted me…” If you go to dictionary.com, it says something about 95% of word nerds disagree with the word being used as a transitive verb. I agree with the nerds.
But back to the voice mail. How do you feel about that? I don’t particularly like to leave them especially if I don’t have something profound to say. I don’t like leaving nonsense ones like, “Hi, it’s me.” And that’s it. Not that I’m doing strenuous work by pushing 7 to delete, but you know what I mean. And I feel like I shouldn’t have to waste anyone else’s finger energy deleting my messages, so I don’t leave voice mail. Know what I mean? Unless, I have to say something important, like, “I’m standing by the highway, I’m stuck in a snow storm, my car’s flipped over and is lying in a mangled mess in a ditch, and I am cold. Get me now.” And then I have to call back anyway and say, “Oh yeah, please get me now, I mean…”
Have you ever intentionally given some random guy a wrong number? I’ve always wanted to try giving out 867-5309, but I fear the karmic retribution that goes with that. I have a hard time saying “No you can’t have my number.” Not very many people ask for it, so you’d think it’d be easy to say no a few times, but I can’t.
It's -9 outside and that Christmas song, "Baby it's cold outside...." is stuck in my head.
posted by Lethe at 9:45 PM
1 Comments:
I totally get you. I get so worked up over leaving voice mails that I will hang up before the beep, spend five minutes thinking up what to say on the voicemail, and then call back to leave the message. Sometimes, I'll even rehearse it out loud to make sure that my voicemail is fluid and succint. It's the least I can do for the poor sod who has the misfortune of listening to my voice.
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