voicemail boxes, my mortal enemy!

telephones ought to be illegal for bachelors. especially voice mail. no single source of shame and misery and regret is as overwhelming as a young woman’s voicemail inbox.

perhaps upon engagement to some patient woman, a man is allowed to access merely the voicebox of the person good enough to take his hand. if she can stand his voicemails, she can stand anything. then, after the marriage, voicemail permissions are extended in full, with a subclause allowing the patient bride to revoke them at will.

exhilarated, and on the cusp of the end of a year of professional sacrifices, i made a phone call in search of a new friend. i need more friends. i do not have nearly enough.

i left a voicemail message somewhere between auctioneer and speaking in tongues. halfway through the message i was trying not to laugh because i realized i had entered some new dimension of shame and embarrassment. i thought i was doing so badly, that i should just go for it and achieve new heights of nonsensical, rambling zaniness.

if you’re going to blow it, blow it big, i say. make it memorable. make it the kind of babbling message that can open portals to new dimensions of shame and misery complete with shame elementals and embarrassment salamanders. make it so bad that a recording will be played at christmas parties year after year, and inspire a giant book about bad voicemails, that’s turned into a tv special on fox.

if you are the recipient of one of my continually horrendous voicemails, please feel free to post a word-by-word reproduction in the comments section… if you can even understand what i’m saying half the time.

if i could remember that last one well enough, or get access to a recording of it, i’d post my shame and misery immediately. if you can’t laugh at yourself, you don’t get to laugh at other people.

what i can remember is this:
i asked somebody’s mom and sister out on a date without actually meaning to do so. then, i babbled about the chinese unicorn being my favorite animal. then i said something about spamalot eight or nine times. then, i invited this poor, unsuspecting person to call me back at least three different times.

i’m not holding my breath, folks.

on a completely related note, i have forgotten my own voicemail password, and i haven’t had any clue how to access my voicemail box for about eight months. who knows what mysteries await inside the wires? perhaps i can find new heights of someone else’s shame?

what i do is this: i see that i have a missed call, and call them back.

i do this because i’m merciful.