Call Waiting

By TAD BARTIMUS

Last night I spent hours sitting with a telephone to my ear listening to a cheery voice assure me "YOUR CALL IS IMPORTANT TO US!"

The continuous recording, interspersed with very bad piano music, also thanked me for patience I didn't have, bombarded me with advertising for things I didn't want, switched accents to trick me into thinking an actual human had come to my rescue and frequently suggested I hang up and try again later.

I got caught in Loop Tape Hell because a computer suddenly froze up and wouldn't unlock my professional life so I had to call the manufacturer. But I could just as easily have needed an airline reservation, or a mechanic at the car dealership, or the washing machine repair serviceman, my newspaper's circulation department, the lawyer's office, or even the termite guy. If my call was so important to them, why didn't they have somebody answer it? When consumers try to communicate with corporate America these days it's mostly all recorded talk and no action until the caller has done penance on hold.

Calling in sick takes six minutes and nine different buttons. When the cleaning lady does a light once-over with a feather duster the big bucks system crashes.

We are prisoners of technology that was supposed to free us. Remember when the First Nerds promised new inventions would liberate us to spend our days on the tennis court and in the swimming pool? Instead, we're always waiting, or re-dialing, or leaving messages for somebody who's left one for us. We don't talk person to person anymore; my machine talks to your machine. We spend endless hours pressing the No.1 key and then the # sign, circling back on ourselves when we don't know the right extension or can't spell a last name.

Calling in sick takes six minutes and nine different buttons. When the cleaning lady does a light once-over with a feather duster the big bucks system crashes. If I accidentally hit a 2 instead of a 3 I am condemned to listen to Barry Manilow for eternity because I can't go back to the beginning: "I'm sorry, this option is not available." Grrrrrr.

After sitting for hours with my finger on automatic redial I finally got through to another recording. Advised I was half an hour away from a human, I cradled the phone under my chin and ironed half my closet while I waited for the next available operator.

Which brings me to directory assistance. When I was growing up, all the local telephone operators in my town were friends of my parents. They actually sat at a switchboard and plugged and unplugged wires. When my folks would go to a party across the street on a Saturday night they'd tell us: "Okay, kids, if you need anything just pick up the phone and tell Aunt Mert to ring us at the Sloneker's." So if we ran out of Cokes or potato chips, or one of us slugged the other one, we'd lift the heavy black receiver and a friendly voice would say, "Hi Toots, what's up?" Because we were on a party line, a neighbor would likely eavesdrop and show up in five minutes with whatever we wanted.

Now a recording orders you to s-p-e-a-k s-l-o-w-l-y into the mouthpiece; if you dont know the exact name of the business or person you're calling, tough! The phone company's directory assistance doesn't use the actual physical Yellow Pages book anymore, therefore information operators don't give out any.

When Aunt Mert retired, personal service went with her. We live in a digital world where messages move at incredible speed, but blinking screens and voice mail systems still keep us chained to our work stations long after the tennis court lights go out and the swimming pool closes. Now we've all got Call Waiting, whether we want it or not.

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