There have been stories lately about the MB bike rallies, none written by me (at least not this week), which means -- to my great relief -- that I do not get 10,000 phone calls a day, plus 10,000 more voicemail messages, many of which contain racial slurs and maniacally ridiculous leaps of illogic.
But no one is calling me today except my city spokesman. I've taken to picking up the newsroom's main line whenever it rings more than twice, just so I can hear voices that aren't in my head.
But people are so rude sometimes.
Caller: "Steve there?"
Me: "What's Steve's last name?" In my head I'm wondering if this guy realizes there are hundreds of people in this building, and Steve is a pretty common name.
Caller: "Steve." Like maybe if he says it with more emphasis, it will reach my clearly feeble brain.
Me: "Do you know which department he's in?"
Caller: "Nah. Maybe news."
Huh. OK.
Not that I miss the crazies.
Well, maybe just a little...
By the way, that is a picture of a velvet-covered -- yes, velvet -- princess phone, with a rotary dial, for those of you who do not remember what one looked like. They didn't have ringtones. If you don't know what a rotary dial is, you're too young to be reading this blog. Go away.
No comments:
Post a Comment