Characters Final Frame

Telemarketing Love


December 13th, 2005

Telephone SignI recently started to date a tele marketer.  She’s pretty nice, but I don’t know how long we’ll be together.  We met on the phone when she called to sell me a mattress.  I bought five and she sold me her heart.  It was magical, but she has some good qualities and some bad ones. 

For example, one problem is her voice.  She sounds like a robot.  Her voice is completely monotone, and on several occasions I have misinterpreted it as a prerecorded message.

The other day we were talking on the phone, and I accidentally tripped over the phone.  We were disconnected, but she didn’t get mad.  I’ve since found out that she never gets mad when you hang up on her.  I know this because in one day I hung up on her some seventy three times.  It’s amazing.  Sometimes, I’ll just hang up because I don’t feel like talking anymore.  She’ll be in some big story, and goodbye, I’m off the phone.  I love it.

On the negative side, she can never say my name right.   It’s as if she’s from a foreign country and is just learning the language.  My name really isn’t that complicated, but in three weeks I’ve heard approximately forty-six different variations.  Some of the pronunciations have added letters, and sometimes letters are either silent or missing.  I bought her a couple books on english phonetics, but I don’t think it’s helping.  While saying my name, I should never be able to hear the word “glob,” no matter how thick an accent might be.

Another annoying habit happens when we talk in person.  She always pauses before she speaks.  I can look her directly in the face , when she is alert and attentive, and I say “hello” three times before she responds.  It’s embarrassing at restaurants when the waiter takes our order.  He’ll say, “and for you ma'am?”  And she stares directly at him for like thirty two seconds, and then as if there wasn’t a huge awkward pause she answers.  It’s almost unbearable.

Her verbiage really bothers me too.  She won’t just ask if I want to make out.  Normally, she’ll say something like, “Are you ready for an exciting offer?  When was the last time that a woman touched your lips?  Well, do I have something for you.  If I could offer you thirty minutes of complete romance, would you be interested?”  It’s like that with everything.  I’m not even going to go into how it sounds at the grocery store.  She sounds like she’s reading a sales script.

I guess there’s more negative here than positive, but she's willing to do anything to make this work.  I don’t know what to do.  Maybe I’ll sleep on it, in my new sleep number beds.

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Ticketed Going 88 MPH


December 7th, 2005

Police CarEveryone hates getting pulled over, especially criminals with outstanding warrants.  I was pulled over earlier today for the first time, and I don’t think I handled it too good.  I had to go to the  station for a couple of hours.   

I thought I’d learned how to handle cops through the years of stories I had heard, and that I was pretty much an expert in the subject.  I was under the assumption that most people being stopped get away with a warning or a simple fine, and that most traffics stops DO NOT involve extensive amounts of jail time like my new experience leads me to believe.  I also incorrectly assumed that the only blowing would occur on the outside of my cell.  How wrong I was.

As it turns out, I was driving down the highway, and seemed to be speeding.  I didn't mean to be speeding, but it happened.  While accelerating, my shoelace got caught.  I couldn’t pull my foot off the gas pedal.  The resulting situation closely emulated a sequence from the motion picture Footloose, in which Kevin Bacon’s foot gets caught on the tractor during a game of chicken.  It was at this exact moment that I was clocked going approximately 88 MPH.  Surprisingly, my car did not go to the year 1985 as the documentary, Back to the Future, hypothesized.

I finally was able to get my foot off of the pedal and decelerate, just in time to see what I thought was lightning in my rear view mirror.  The lightning struck me as wierd, seeing as it was about three o’clock in the afternoon and the sun was shining.  Realizing that it wasn’t lighting, when I saw the red light, I sped up.  For some reason this was interpreted as a “High Speed” chase.  I was actually relieved when I saw the cop in my mirror because I thought I was going to be safe.

I pulled over right before I hit the blockade.  Apparently, the cops set that up because I was, “fleeing.”  Whatever.

When the cop came up to my window, I tried to think of the ways my friends have managed to get out of tickets.  I immediately pleaded ignorance, and said that I had no idea how fast I was going.  I knew exactly how fast I was going, but I couldn’t tell him that once I got up to 88 MPH, that I wanted to see if time travel was possible.  The ignorance didn’t seem to work, so I went to plan B.

I started to cry.

Weeping really.  I started wailing, and it did nothing.  Actually the cop called me a girl and went to go check on something in his car.  After he left, I realized that he wasn’t talking about my crying, but rather the flame design seat belt I was wearing.  I was testing it!  Anyway, I knew he would never notice my tears passed that seat belt.  I had to pull out the big guns, plan C.

I know several people, who in addition to the water works, add a little skin.  I thought, “what the heck?”  The officer came back to the car and I began to hike up my pants.  They were corduroy, so it was kind of tough.  It took about twenty minutes for me to jimmy them up.  After that he got pretty annoyed, and I decided to come clean.  I told him the story about Footloose, Back To The Future, and all three plans.  He thought I had been drinking and pulled me out for a field sobriety test.  First, I blew for him, and then I walked the line.  You guessed it, my winter fresh gum put me over the limit, and it got real windy when I started walking.

Anyway, long story longer, I was taken to the station where I met LeRoy.  We cuddled.  

It was rough, but I’m out now.  I can’t drive, but I’m out, and that’s not half bad.  I’m due back in court next Friday, I have three hundred hours of community service, and the bribing an officer charge is still pending.  All and all, it could be worse, I could have had a tail light out.

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What Is All This Internet Talk?


December 5th, 2005

KeyboardThe internet appeared to be getting pretty popular, and it seemed that everyone had a dot com account except me.  I really wasn’t sure if my bank had those accounts, but I thought I’d ask.  It turns out that they don’t, but Margaret, the teller who waited on me, was very helpful.  She thought I might already be signed up, and as it turns out she was right.  This accounts for the additional forty dollars tacked onto my bill every month.

I was already traveling on the information superhighway.  I had been using it for years actually.  I just assumed that it was the the devil's playground.  

Anyway, I tried this internet thing out and I like it, but I have a few suggestions and criticisms for it’s creator, Al Gore.

One.  Who in the published all of my personal journals on the internet?

Two.  When will time travel be possible through this thing at an affordable rate?  It’s come to my attention that there are several web sites available on the subject, but the pricing still seems to be a bit ridiculous.

Three.  It would appear that any idiot can create one of these addresses, and pretend to be an expert on a plethora of subjects.  Maybe I should take another look at “Lloyd’s House of Stamp Collecting and Rental Equipment.”

Four.  Before someone steals this idea from me.  “Shopping on the internet.”  What do you think?   People never have to leave their houses.  You can do all of your purchasing from your home and we eliminate cash transactions.  Just another level of terrorist security.  

Hopefully, I can find an e-mail address to send this to.  I just want to get my feelers out there.  This whole internet thing could be a tool for change, and maybe someday all urinals will have dividers in between them, and then maybe peoples’ personal issues wouldn’t become common knowledge.

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