Musings of Me

Telephones

Each vocation comes with its own perils and rewards. These range from making a ton of money getting shot at in Iraq (private sector only, sorry troops) down to sneaking free grub while employed in fast food (partially because not earning enough to pay for it). I fall somewhere in the middle.

My job has several perks. The main drawback, though, is that I have now developed a persistent, abnormal, and irrational hatred of telephones.

While never a huge telephone fan to begin with (I prefer to charm my victims in person), I ALWAYS like to talk (no exceptions). Laura tells me I am turning into our mother in this regard. The latest verbal manifestation began El Dia de los Muertos as Lisa and I drove in search of a Mexican restaurant. Suddenly I was found to utter such useful and informative comments as “Look, a Starbucks!” followed by “Check it out! Starbucks!” At this point (bless her heart), Lisa slapped me.

Back to the matter at hand (I have a tendency to digress, but I always re-circle to my main point). Where once I may have smiled at the thought of a ringing telephone (‘people love me! Yay!’), the reality of one ringing now brings about a horrible transformation. The blood drains from my face. My eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. Something resembling a growl emerges from my throat between clenched jaws. After preparing myself thus, I then answer “Thank you for calling *** *** Insurance Company. How may I help you?”

Even when my cellular phone rings, it is comic. It has not rang in so long I didn’t know the annoying ‘brrrinnng’ was mine until I deposited the cat into the kitchen to get her off the sofa (she is a couch whore), destroyed the sofa, and even contemplated slitting cushions to find the source (anything to make it stop. I then immediately changed it to the vibrate setting). At one point in my quest to vanquish the enemy I was crouched in battle-mode in the center of the dining room.

My new attitude of uneasy wariness towards Alexander Bell’s invention is somewhat tempered by common sense. While on my toes with any ringing phone, given the context of the situation, I can ascertain the impact it will have on my day. If at work, I know the ringing symbolizes the six-gun salute used to announce someone is about to hang. If the ringing is anywhere else, I repress the urge to hiss and spit like an angry cat, realizing that I have friends. That is worth smiling about.

I think it all boils down to an ancient truth: Based on our intent, the tools at our disposal can cause good or ill. In view of the grand picture, I like being able to afford food, and I appreciate not being shot at. I like my friends, too.

posted by Jill @ 4:50 PM