Thursday, October 14th, 2010

image of Nataly singing Telephone

I’ve got a telephone that hates me. I don’t believe it’s a personal thing, I think it’s just that the AI designed for it loathes everyone, equally and indiscriminately. Her voice drips with contempt as she ticks off my options, but I realize it only seems to hate me in particular because I happen to be the guy trying to listen to his voice mail on it right now. Pure coincidence.

To get my voice mail I have to dial a phone number, then enter an eight-digit PIN, which seems redundant to me. I’m already punching in a number to listen to my voice mail, then I have to punch in another number. How secure does this have to be? I’m not trying to get gold out of Fort Knox, I only want to listen to the latest batch of messages from people asking me how they can renew their barber’s license. Keeping information like that safe using 64-bit encryption seems like overkill.

It’s even less important than that: Most of the time the voice mail on my telephone isn’t actually meant for me. I haven’t figured out yet how I’m the default for all the incoming calls, but until I do I have to transfer the messages to the person in the office who can answer the question about renewing a license to barber. After the voice message ends there’s a phone robot voice that tells me what my options are, so it doesn’t take a lot of brains to press the button that transfers the message, but then there’s the little matter of adding a comment.

I don’t want to add a comment. For two weeks, though, I wasn’t able to figure out how to transfer a message without adding a stupid useless comment, usually something like, “Uh, here’s a caller who wants to renew his barbering license,” as if the person who was going to get the message wouldn’t be able to figure that out. Saying something totally unrelated seemed counterproductive, though, so I kept on saying obvious shit even though I felt stupid doing it.

One of my coworkers told me how to send without a comment, but I couldn’t get it to work until one way when I accidentally hit the send button in a fit of angst while trying to think of something to say. A nervous tic gave me the key to figuring out the secret: Punch “send” a fraction of a second too soon or too late and the phone robot cries foul, but count one-Mississippi and you’re good to go. Again, do we really need that kind of precision in day-to-day office telephony? Hardly.

Transferring live calls was almost as hard to figure out, but mostly because the button I’m supposed to use to make the transfer is labeled “Flash.” Sure, that makes sense, because labeling it “Transfer” would only confuse people. Why would you even call it “flash?” Telephones aren’t supposed to flash. Why would anybody touch that button? Oh, to make transfers. Right.

Stop calling, stop calling | 6:17 am CDT
Category: daily drivel | Tags: ,
4 Comments | Add a comment


  1. 1 G*J said at 1:26 pm on October 14th, 2010:

    Yay, Pomplamoose!

  2. 2 Dave said at 9:24 pm on October 14th, 2010:


  3. 3 G*J said at 1:27 pm on October 14th, 2010:

    Oh ya, your drivel was good too

  4. 4 Dave said at 9:24 pm on October 14th, 2010:

    Huh, thengyoo, thengyooverrymush.