You probably don’t spend too much time talking on the phone
these days.
You probably text more than talk.
You’re in…you’re out.
Don’t forget, to bring your pants home, this
time!
Texting is short and simple.
Talking, is not.
“How
are you? No, I didn’t know about your eczema flare up. Yes, I did see that
movie. No, I won’t tell you how it ends. No, I didn’t see that one…oh, he was
dead the whole time…no kidding. So, you ended up with sausage instead of
meatballs? I suppose that was a nice
change. How long of a procedure is that?
I have no idea if it’s considered cosmetic or not. Well, your guess is as good as mine. Okay, I
guess your guess is better…I guess.”
Talking can drag on…for a while.
Especially when you’re not quite sure how to get off the
phone.
Even after 8 hours.
You could use the direct approach.
“Holy
Moly, my kitchen is on fire…I have to go!”
Or Holy Moly, whatever…fill in the blank.
Because Holy Moly is always a good go-to escape route no
matter what you attach to it.
Or you can be even more direct…
“You know I really don’t care about anything you’re saying…in fact,
while you’ve been yammering on and on for the last hour, I’ve been cleaning my
oven, and the hour before that I was counting the litter in in the litter box.”
You could say that…some people do…not saying who.
Although, unfortunately, for the most part, people don’t like
to be rude.
They don’t like to hurt their friends’ feelings, so they
might employ strategies designed to make their caller believe it was actually their
idea to end the call.
Like snoring, which is my preferred method.
Snoring, however, can be perceived as some sort of technical
phone glitch, so there’s always the risk your caller will just hang up and call
you right back.
Of course, there’s nothing that says you have to actually pick
up this call back as you can always say, when held to task at a later date, you
were mysteriously stricken by a sudden attack of ptomaine poisoning and spent
the rest of the day in the bathroom, dealing with affairs of the toilet…or dress
the whole thing up by saying, “affaires de toilettes”, which is French for “you don’t want to know….”
Of course, sometimes, you may find yourself on the receiving
end of one of these reverse “see y a
later….goodbye, it’s been good to know ya” tactics.
Like when somebody suddenly blurts out in the middle of your
recalcitrant foot fungus story…
“Well,
that’s really fascinating and I’d love to hear more, but I’m gonna let you go.”
To which I will usually respond….
“Go…go
where? I don’t have to go. Don’t worry about me…we can talk all day. You don’t
have to let me go. Did I tell you about…?”
Because it’s really more about them going rather than letting me going…which
if I had someplace to be going, I
would probably know about it, and more likely than not actually go…perhaps.
So, at this point I’ll start talking about that time in High
School when I locked myself in my gym locker by mistake. And once I’m done with
that, I’ll jump ahead to that time in the 90’s when I ordered a Grande Latte and
they only charged me for a Tall!
Anything to drag out the conversation for at least another
half hour—because disingenuousness must be punished—until my listener finally relents
and shouts out …“Holy Moly….!”
But that’s just how it is with phone calls.
It’s a very disingenuous activity.
Worse than congressional hearings.
People will say they’ll talk to you later, which they have
no intention of doing.
Or even worse, say, can I call you back?
Which to me means sometime in the next five minutes…ten
tops.
But to them means, anytime within the current calendar year…or
next.
But that’s okay.
I’ve gotten wise to that tactic also; I rarely wait by the
phone for more than a few hours, now.
I mean how naïve do you think I am?
Anyway, I guess, like most people, these days, texting
really is my preferred method of communication, as well.
Short and sweet is much better than long and tedious.
And by necessity, insincerity is kept to a minimum.
Mostly because people I text rarely text back…not sure why.
Probably too busy counting their cat litter….
Well, it makes sense. You have to count the little pellets to make sure you got your money's worth. The cat really doesn't care, although if he were a dog, he would at least pretend to care because all that counting apparently is important to you.
ReplyDeleteThe oddest thing is I don't even own a cat.....
Deleterecalcitrant...one of my favorite words, one that most do not know the meaning of, I LOVE it!
ReplyDeleteHey...this is from May! Try to keep up!
Deletei'm backed up like the gowanus!
ReplyDelete