Where the heck is everyone? Lately, I feel as if I’ve been shouting into an empty cavern and all I hear is my own voice echoing back. So, now I’m going to whine and feel sorry for myself because, like the polar bears, correspondence is dying off. I guess it’s that time of year when summer wraps up and the kiddies go back to school. I try emailing. My email lights up when I log on to tell me there’s something new in my inbox and I’m often met with an ad from a travel agency telling me I can fly home for a mere $800 and 3 stopovers, as if this is good news. It takes me longer to fly to Ohio than it would be if I just started walking, I often think. Or I get forwards, with 700 addresses before me that I have to scroll through to find the meat of the message only to find I can’t download it. I hate being greeted with
This is hilarous!
only to have a meaningless vomitus of characters across my screen.
I’d call people, but I loathe talking on the phone. I don’t know why. I just don’t enjoy it at all. I never answer the phone. Occasionally, I’ll answer my cell phone if I know who’s calling. It seems that the few times I do answer my phone, it’s a solicitor or someone calling from work. I hate when I don’t recognize the caller, even after they’ve identified themselves. “Is this Tami?”
What do I say? Yes? No? Wait, it’s a trick!
Cautiously, I respond, “Yes?”
“This is Imelda from Dr. Hald’s office.”
Hald…Hald…oh, hell. Yes. Oh, crap! The psycho dentist I saw in March! Why are they calling???
“Would you like to set up an appointment?”
“For a cleaning. Our records show that you’re due.”
“Uh, no. I’m not due. I just had a cleaning done a few months ago.”
“It’s recommended that you come in every six months.”
I’m sorry. I guess you didn’t understand me. I’m never stepping foot into your dungeon again!
Are you insane?
Over my dead body will I go back into that Little Shop of Horrors:
At least Steve Martin seemed to have a handle on the techniques of dentistry, which is a lot more than I can say for Dr. Hell.
So, there ya go. My hatred of the phone correlates directly with my fear of the dentist.