Today I’m spending my afternoon on hold. I won’t go into why; let’s just not open the can of worms. Wow, you get a lot of weird things when you search for “can of worms.” Some ecological, some graphic:
Why would you put pictures of the worms on the can? What if some young worm youngling sees that? Nightmares for life, ya’ll! Do worms sleep? “And in that sleep of worms, what dreams may come, must give us pause…”
And some crafty:
Note: The worms have fuzzy hats. They must be Worm Knittas representin’. ‘Cause that’s how worm knittas roll… I mean, crawl…
I can’t watch TV because the phone cord is too short. My knitting is even farther away than the TV. And it’s too hot to knit anyway. If I’d know it was going to take this long, I would have grabbed Harry Potter 4. And War and Peace.
This is making my brain leak out of my ears. Two hours on hold is like a lobotomy via telephone. A phon-otomy, see?
Be nice. Two hours on hold, ya’ll. Zombie-hood looks enticing right now.
No, I would not like to leave a voice message and have my call returned. The last time I did that, no one called me back.
Every 15 or 20 minutes, their system disconnects me and I have to call back again. So I go back to the end of the line. If there really is a line.
I am picturing an office empty except for the cleaning crew. Every once in a while, someone picks up a phone to clean it, and disconnects me when they put it back down. And then they all laugh.
Or, there is a hell of a Labor Day party going on. Margueritas, conga lines, an impromptu hula class from the guy in Marketing who just got back from the conference in Hawaii. They are all laughing at the blinking lights on the phone system, and randomly punching the disconnect button.
Or, the building has fallen off into the Atlantic Ocean and the workers are waiting for rescue, secretly grateful that they do not have to answer my call. As the sharks circle, they laugh with glee, “No more phone calls!”
This place is open today until 11 pm Eastern Time. It is 10:30 there now. Tick tick.
Or, the East Coast has been invaded by aliens and they are really bad at customer service. They are laughing manically at my pathetic human concerns as they crush buildings beneath their spaceships. Hey, I saw the invasion on the Simpsons, it must be true…
Or, everyone took the day before the long weekend off except for the temp, and she has been overwhelmed by the volume of calls, and is now eating her hair in the corner. And laughing manically.
I’ll try to be gentle with her…
8 minutes left…
It’s starting to cool off. Or is that just a side effect of my encroaching zombieness?
Okay, fine, I’ll leave a message, just so you know that I did call before the deadline.
Left a message and then called again. I am nothing if not stubborn. As my mom used to tell my teachers…
My second grade teacher tried to get me to write my first name correctly. But my dad had taught me to write in caps. First, she took off 5 points. Then more. My mom stepped in when she found a crumpled paper in my pocket with no other mistakes but with 90 points taken off for writing LYDA.
Oh god, I’ve gone into the Mom Stories Zone. There is no hope for me now…
The phone gods are laughing their asses off at me right now…
Have you noticed that in every scenario, someone is laughing at me? But only the phone gods get to laugh their asses off, because they are gods, ya’ll.
Do gods have asses?
Or just donkeys?
Song: “Phon-otomy, you will always be… phon-otomy to me, good ol’ phon-0tomy, telephone lobotomy…”
Pass that marguerita, will ya…
Zombie Conga Line, here I come!