Phuck phone calls

I hate the telephone. Hate it like I hate splinters and parking tickets and spilling honey vodka all over my keyboard (which has been repaired and returned, thanks for asking).

If your friend insists on interrupting you every 10 words to discipline her 3-year-old, who is cramming an ice cream cone into the DVD player, there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Or maybe she’s eating a sandwich, and you have to listen to her sentences being punctuated by the smack-smack-smack of lips and digestive juices. People can call you at any time, at any place, with no regard for whether you actually want to talk to them.

I know what you’re going to say: There’s voicemail. Oh yes, there’s voicemail.

Voicemail sucks even more than real-time phone calls, because people leave rambling, 4-minute-long messages that never get to the fucking point, so you’re going to have to call them back anyway, and there’s never a good time to listen to a 4-minute-long message full of conversational pauses and bullshit, so you spend several days staring at that flashing light, whose sole purpose is to taunt you, until the voicemail becomes irrelevant and you delete it without listening to it. Then, if they ask you about it, you have to either fake technological failure or pretend to be a flake, which works really well, since your default setting is “flake” anyway.

Or maybe that’s just me.