Big Red Phone

Something somewhere must say that if it's Friday and you're retarded, it's time to pick up the phone and call me at work.

So far today I've had an unintelligible lady call me about a story from two years ago, and a guy call me about the teen column ad I ran in today's paper. First the lady asked for the person who had my job before me (didn't have the heart to say she got canned for being psycho, so I stuck with the ol' "she don't work here no mo' "), then she threw a fit when she couldn't talk to her. Needs must I mention that this person spoke almost the worst English I've ever heard, holycrapiwantogougemyearsout. I caught the words story and cemetery, and the city it was in, and before my brain flipped into SUPERHAPPYANEURYSM! mode (made in Japan) I transferred the call to a reporter who might have had the slightest inkling what this woman was mushmouthing about.

It's times like that when I wish I had a big red phone with its own special extension and I could print in the paper: "If you're deaf, old, hostile, retarded and/or don't speak the native tongue of the country you've decided to make your friggin' home for the love of all things great and holy!...then please call THE BIG RED PHONE, ext. 911."

When the big red phone rings (actually, I'd replace the ringer with a siren), I could have my assistant, Igor (a half-human hunchback giant with a megaphone and tons of patience, which may or may not be the result of an illegal lobotomy...who's asking, I don't know anything, mind your own business), answer and delicately handle the caller's desires. But of course, they wouldn't get Igor until they ran through the automated menu, which would include:

"If you're deaf, please say yes."
"If you're blind, please use the keys on your keypad to spell out ICANTREAD."
"If you're retarded, please hang up."
"If you're old, please hang up and call back in four years."
"If you're hostile, please stay on the line so that someone may hang up on you."
"If you're an idiot, please don't call."
"For all other inquiries, press zero for assistance. You will be charged $3.99 per minute."

This extension would also apply to the guy who called me about the teen column. I ran a blurb in today's paper asking any interested teens to send me a packet of stuff by Aug. 15. What does the guy do? Calls and said he saw the blurb in the paper, and when does his child have to have his stuff to me by? Yeah, hello, Aug. 15. I said that in the freakin' blurb. READ, doofus. Obviously you had to have at least skimmed it since you got my phone number, which was at the end...

OK, so then after I tell him Aug. 15, he goes, "Gee, that's really tough to get that stuff together when kids aren't in school yet." Aha...ahahahaha! (sorry, I'll stifle my laugh) Dude, go in the next room and tell junior to put down the PlayStation controller and the gallon of Mountain Dew and put his dang packet together. It's really not that hard. Teach him a little responsibility, wouldja?

So to all you idiots, retards and just the generally dimwitted, I'm gettin' a big red phone. Now, to prepare Igor. Anyone got a chicken they don't want?