This is a bit of a worry really, seeing as it encompasses a part of my day job, if I am on “Help Desk” duty.
Maybe that’s why, when the phone rings at home, I do my utmost answering it. It doesn’t matter that it’s likely to be someone I know and have been dying to hear from, I hate the bloody phone. That grey, plastic, chirruping machine that insists on interrupting my free time with Renee and Ella at inopportune moments, requiring me to respond to its summons like a drone.
As you all know, the overseas marketing call has now reached plague proportions here in Australia and has done a great deal of damage to the already tenuous willingness to answer the phone. You can tell straightaway – a fuzzy sound, several seconds pause, and a strong Indian or Pakistan accent saying, “Helloooo, is that Mr…?” The only time I ever get called “Mr” is in the doctor’s waiting room or by a telemarketing maggot.
The old cliche of a woman on the phone to her mates for hours and hours seems very outdated to me. My friends are more likely to see the phone as another chore on their never-ever-completed list of things to do around the house – none of us see an hour long chat after 8pm as something fun. A few of us – myself included – have admitted that we sometimes purposely call when we know that the person is not likely to be at home. This enables us to leave a brief but useful message on the phone without the lingering chitchat we’d all desperately like to avoid.