So, this is how my Friday morning started.
I get a phone call at work from a cell phone in Cambridge, MA. It is some guy asking me if I will give him a spanking, as he really needs one. I politely decline. (Although it does occur to me that, along with refilling the candy dish, this may be one of my new duties. I'll check with the Office Manager later.)
He calls twice more. I politely hang up on him.
THEN, I get another call from Cambridge, MA from this kid's father, asking me if I just got a prank call. I said I had. Dad asked me what the kid said and I told him. Dad freaked out, said his kid was only 15 and he wanted to scare him out of this annoying habit by telling the kid he was going to send the kid to my office and really have me give him a spanking; the worst of his life. This did not make me feel any better about the situation; in fact, it just creeped me out more than I already was, which was plenty. I politely hung up on Dad.
The point of this charming tale, other than to make you feel better about your Friday morning, is to illustrate just why I hate talking on the phone. I am truly phonephobic. It sometimes takes me days to screw up my courage enough to call someone. I approach making a phone call the same way I approach killing a cockroach; I close my eyes, and hope it will all be over soon. I would rather spank a 15-year-old kid in Cambridge, MA, than make a phone call. I think you get my point.
I'm not really sure exactly why I hate phone conversations so much. I am Extremely Awkward in any social situation, but especially in one-on-one confrontations. If there is more than a five-second lull in the conversation, I get panicky and start spouting NASDAC indices or speaking in tongues or telling inappropriate jokes just to fill the Deathly Silence. Now you know why I'm alone.
I am sure, Clever Reader, that you have, by now, sensed the delightful irony in a Phonephobic answering phones for a living. Well, if Awkward is my middle name, then my Confirmation name is Irony. Cause that's how I roll. Awkward and Ironic. A match made in Purgatory.
Thank God for texting/messaging, enabling me to actually stay in touch with people without having a stroke every time I pick up the phone. Otherwise, --wait, my phone's ringing. . . Gotta go, it's Spanky and Our Gang from Cambridge again. Where's my paddle?