At the Sound of the Beep

I love the digital age. I love that can check bank accounts or adjust investments online. I love that I can call a company and, unless I’m on my parents rotary phone, punch in numbers that correspond to my options. Actually, even better is voice recognition software. “Please speak your option now.” It’s entirely possible to accomplish a lot without having to talk to another live human being.

Not everyone feels this way of course. My dad has trouble hearing and will often ask recordings to repeat themselves before getting flustered and tossing the phone to my mom. My mom is a little better with the technology, though she prefers to talk to a live human being and takes down information about the person who assists her. “Thank you and your name is?” The less I speak with people, the happier I am.

I’m not sure what it is. I get flustered and have trouble composing my thoughts. I jot down notes before making an important phone call, and feel like an idiot if I need to have the person repeat or explain some details. It doesn’t matter that it’s a complete stranger I’ll never meet. Of course, speaking with people I know can be more intimidating. I don’t mean my friends necessarily, whom I deal with mostly through e-mail, instant messaging, or in person. When I was a kid, I always had to answer the phone, and it almost never was for me. To this day I dread the mandatory small talk with aunts, uncles, or friends of my parents.

I always felt like I was being interrogated. “How’s school? I bet you have lots of girlfriends. Do you have a girlfriend yet? How’s work? I bet you’re getting big.” At any age I cringed at the thought of such conversations. And yes, my aunts still asked if I was getting big long after I stopped growing. I may actually be shorter now than I was in college.

Something magical happened in the early ‘90s though. My mom finally got an answering machine.

I remember the small cassettes that she’d use, and the messages she’d save. I remember her first paranoid outgoing message that simply stated the number the person had reached, and not any of our names. People could have reached a receptionist at a doctor’s office, and given the one digit difference between our number and a local nursing home, it made for some interesting messages. I just hope some of these people realized in time that they hadn’t gotten through to who they thought they had. My neighborhood friends hated what they called “screening” calls, but on those occasions that it actually was one of them, I’d pick up the phone. They took it personally for some reason, but they weren’t the people I was avoiding.

My mom liked the avenues an answering machine opened up as well. There were times she wouldn’t feel like talking to friends or relatives who’d keep her on for four hours. No longer was there a need to run to the phone and miss a television show or burn dinner. My dad hated it. “Why doesn’t somebody answer that phone?!” In those days our machine activated after three rings, so he’d often knock over chairs scrambling to get there in time. Many a time a message would include his frantic “HELLO? HELLO?” before the machine cut off recording. Our current digital model goes to four rings, which is a little better.

The other day my mom was outside and my dad was washing dishes. I was in the kitchen loading a plate with dinner when the phone rang. “Can you get that? My hands are wet.” i hesitated. “GET IT! It might be someone from the band!!” I sighed and answered, only to hear my uncle on the other end. He asked for my mom by her first name, then realized it was me and not my dad. “How’s it going there? Liking the new job there? Are ya busy there? There?” “Yep. Keeping me busy.” Whether a new school or a new job, for two decades now “keeping busy” has been my stock answer to such inquiries. As he’s gotten older, this particular uncle has also become something of a slow talker at times, pausing every word or two to think of the next word. It’d be rude to cut him off in the middle of a sentence, so I found myself standing there and nodding as my mom came in to the room, waiting for the opening to say “Here she is!” Yes, I nod when I’m on the phone, as well as point and engage in other gestures the other person can’t see. I’ll be ready for holographic phones, though having to get dressed or fix my appearance while scrambling to answer will be annoying.

Recording an outgoing message is never fun either. In over seven years, I think I only changed my message once because it had been erased after a major power outage. I remember coming in before anyone else was there to overhear. I don’t know why that would embarrass me, but somehow it felt like talking to myself, even though the sentence they’d hear would be the same one anyone reaching my voice mail was going to hear. When I started my new job, I didn’t even bother with the personalized message. I just said my name, which it inserted into a templated greeting. Even that I whispered, and the automated voice on the other end, perhaps a distant relative of my dad’s, asked me to repeat what I’d just said.

I think I take after my mom in this area across the board. It’s funny, though she’s a lot better than my dad and I with talking to real people and handling business matters like banking or medical issues, the technology sometimes gets her. To this day, her outgoing cell phone message includes her clearing her throat, saying her name, asking “What do I do now?” and me in the background shouting, “Push the button!”

I hope everyone has a great Saturday, and pleasant weather all around. I’ll be out of town for the day on musical business. It’s going to be a long day, leaving my home around 6 AM and potentially not seeing it again until midnight. I’ll face several trains, large crowds, hours of walking, and some good food. I’m not available to take your call, but at the sound of the beep, please leave a comment:

)))BEEEEEP!!(((