I'm not here.

I call people every day and try to get them to buy into an unnecessarily expensive education. I'm tethered to the phone, like a hideous, plastic umbilicus. Most people are kind enough to screen their calls and let them go straight to voicemail. Know what's really irritating? When there's a little kid's voice on the machine. 'Hiiiiiiii, we're not heeeeeere, but weeeve a message!' You know what? Pass. Your kid isn't cute. He/she's still going to be struggling to make shift-supervisor at the Orange Julius in twenty years.

It always takes about an eternity for the kid to get through the simple request, too. The older you get, the less time you have for such phone frivolity. Soon it's: MESSAGE, NOW, DAMMIT!' I like those, because the caller gets all flustered, and splutters out some sentence fragment before collapsing into hysterical weeping on the other end.

The jury's still out on the traditional message, the I'mnotherepleaseleaveyournamenumberand a briefmessageandI'llgetbacktoyou. It's a classic, I suppose, and kind of comforting. Sometimes I'll grab a plate of homemade macaroons, curl up in an afghan, and dial, baby, dial.