I spent about half an hour this afternoon on the phone with Andrew, a lovely gentleman who works at Verizon Wireless. You see, after my phone slipped into a coma yet again this week, I decided I needed to take action. It just so happened that my friend Gabe was ready to unload his old Verizon phone, as he had just gotten back from six months in China and had recently purchased a newer, nicer cell. Gabe graciously gave me his old phone at no charge (though I did offer him money and/or my first born), and I immediately went home to make the big switch.

Which brings me to Andrew.

Now, I should start off by saying that I don’t know who ever let me, in my youth, near a phone to begin with, but some friends will tell you it was a very poor choice. Apparently my voice is just about perfect for working the 900 circuit, a fact I first became aware of when I was 15 years old. I was preparing to go on a summer-long cross-country teen tour run by the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism with 45 other high schoolers, in what I fully believe was my parents’ first failed attempt to find me a suitable husband. Anyway, about a month before we departed, everyone on the bus was sent a sheet of paper with contact information for our summer companions. One guy took it upon himself to call every number on the sheet in an effort to get to know everyone and make things less awkward on the first day. According to his friends, I “sounded hot” on the phone (boy he must have been disappointed when weird, awkward Melissa ambled onto that bus a few weeks later…). Well, things sure changed. I became less awkward and that guy came out of the closet. However, my low, apparently flirtatious voice remains. But with all the other things that come with adolescence and growing up, I sort of forgot about my voice for the rest of high school, and most of college, for that matter.

In fact, I stopped thinking about this phone voice thing until a few months ago, when, upon hearing me hang up the phone after talking to a source, a Diamondback coworker said it sounded like I was trying to bed whoever I speaking to.

Which brings me to this afternoon. Andrew, if memory serves me correctly and that is indeed his real name, was very nice and very helpful the entire time we were on the phone. However, about 15 minutes into the activating process, Andrew went off on a tangent. He started to tell me how he watched the Comedy Central roast of Bob Saget the night before (which I have yet to see, so I’m glad he started to ruin it for me) and how it wasn’t as good as the roast of Flavor Flav. Then he went off on another tangent and told me that he tried to fix his father’s phone once, only to end up screwing up the phone even more.

Oh, it should be noted that when my contact list didn’t transfer to the new phone, Andrew tried to come up with other options, saying, “If it doesn’t work, I have other methods. But the fun part is…[insert attempt at a suspenseful pause here]…I get to make you do the work.”

What is it that makes people think they can just start chattering away and saying such things to a customer who is obviously ticked that her phone is suffering a difficult, long, drawn-out death thanks to a jar of pickles? Not to be rude, because of all people in the world, I’m the last person to judge other tangent-goers, but come on. Were my voice and phone demeanor so inviting that he felt he could tell me those things? Or is he, just like myself, a chronic oversharer?

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