Phone Etiquette Peeves

I close my eyes and go to my special place...

Sometime I wonder if I’m the only intelligent person left on the planet, and then I search my house for twenty minutes for the keys that are in my hand. So much for superiority. But at least my ridiculous behavior doesn’t affect anyone else (she said, subtly replacing superiority with judging). In the last couple of weeks I have come across the following phone pet peeves too many times not to comment on them.

Ok, first of all, don’t call me from your cell phone, on speaker, in your car, driving down the freeway with the windows open—and then get pissy with me when I keep saying, “Pardon me?” If you’re going to call me in that context, you can just damn well repeat yourself twelve times in a courteous manner. Oh yeah, and when the line “accidentally” goes dead, I’m going to stick to my story that it’s your bad cell reception.

Why do I have to explain the concept of voicemail in 2012?? Exhibits A through D, your honor:

Me: He’s not available right now. Would you like to leave a voicemail?

Caller: No, I need to talk to him.

Me: He’s still not available. Would you like voicemail?

Caller: But I’m returning his call.

Me: And I’m telling you he’s not available and offering you a chance to leave a message.

Caller: Oh, ok. Can I leave a voicemail?

Me: Hey, great idea.

Me: He’s not available right now. Would you like to leave a voicemail?

Caller: Ok. Tell him that John called. My number is—

Me: Whoa Nelly, hang on there. I’m not the voicemail.

Me: He’s not available right now. Would you like to leave a voicemail?

Caller: How do I do that?

(silence as I fight back all the sarcastic responses I could give)

Me: One moment please.

Me: He’s not available right now. Would you like to leave a voicemail?

Caller: No, can I just leave a confidential voice message on some kind of recorded device, though?

Do I know when someone else might answer their phone? Yes, just as soon as I get my crystal ball back from the repair shop. I love that most people don’t believe in telepathy or the ability to see through walls—unless they call the office and speak to me. I realize that some callers may assume that I am sitting right in front of the person they want to speak to, but I’m here to say: don’t assume. I may be around the corner, down the hall, on another floor, or, let's face it, just don't want to turn my head and look after your rude and demanding call. 

This last type of call is actually fun for me, because I get to pretend I’m rehearsing lines for a badly written sitcom.

Caller: Can I talk to Nancy?

Me: Nancy?

Caller: Marta.

Me: Marta?

Caller: Yes.

Me: You want to speak to Marta?

Caller: I need to talk to her.

Me: Which one?

Caller: Tony.

Me: What?

Caller: I’m calling him back.

Me: Calling who back?

Caller: Yes.

Me: Sir, please stop. You’re hurting my head.

So do me a favor, and before you make a phone call, please be sure that your doctor has given you permission to speak to other human beings.

P.S. Why does this post belong on Occupy Selena? Consider it my on-going demonstration to protest the disparity between the 1% who know how to have a sane phone call and the rest of them…

6 Reasons You're Not Successful

How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more than sixty years got enough to eat and escaped being eaten?  --Logan P. Smith

Whenever  I bemoan the fact that I’m not successful, someone always starts listing my accomplishments: avoided falling into potholes today, set alarm for a.m. and not p.m., ate a meal without spilling anything on my white shirt.

You think these things are easy to do? Heck no! They took effort, diligence, vigilance, and discipline. However you define success—whether it’s watching an entire season of Mad Men in one weekend, climbing Mt Everest, or forming your own rock band—there are certain factors you have to keep in mind.

Check out these six simple reasons why success may be eluding you:

1. You're a writer/actor/filmmaker/singer/lawyer but you don't write/act/direct/sing/argue. Period. Do I even need to list the next five reasons? You’re afraid? So what? Do it anyway. You’re not disciplined? So what? Do it anyway. You’re a big procrastinator? SO WHAT? DO IT ANYWAY! Clearly I belong in the military and not in the fuzzy, hand-holding therapeutic world. My point is simply this: if your passion is what really makes you feel alive, then you’re slowly killing yourself with all these excuses.
2. You're waiting for inspiration. That’s like Waiting for Godot. If you have no idea what that means, just go back to reason number one. Who was it that said he writes when inspired, and thank god that's every morning at 9? You’ve got to do it every day, or at least on a regular basis. As Aristotle put it: “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act but a habit.” 
3. You're not marketing yourself/your work. This is anything from cold calls to social media to networking. Nobody knows what a fabulous person with a fabulous product or service you are unless you tell them (and no, telling your granny doesn’t count – unless she’s CEO of a PR firm). Don’t know the first thing about marketing yourself? Bull. What do you think you’re doing on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest?* When you tell everyone you just had a rockin’ burger at your favorite joint (complete with instagram, of course) – you just engaged in marketing. Now do it for something that’s actually important.
4. Real-life distractions keep getting in the way. Like paying the rent. Yeah, I know, real-life stuff sucks ass because it has to be taken care of. But did you ever play Dodge Ball in school? The idea of the game (if you can call being pelted with really hard balls by angry adolescents a game) was to dodge all incoming missiles at any cost. That’s like life. Just because something comes your way that you have to deal with, doesn’t mean you have to sit down and give up. Find a way to take care of it, leap over it, or ignore it—but don’t stop writing/acting/directing/singing/juggling, etc.
5. You don't believe you can. In other words, you don't believe in yourself. Whew! This is more than I can help you with. Maybe Louise Hay can help you out with a few tips on transforming old beliefs. Basically a belief is just a thought that got lodged in the cracks in your brain. Unearth them, shed them, and replace them with new beliefs that YOU CAN DO IT!
6. You spend too much time writing lists entitled 6 Reasons You’re….

Simple? Yes. Easy? Hell no. But if achieving your dream seems like too much work, then take to heart what W. C. Fields once said: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no point in being a damn fool about it.


*Did you see what I did there? I oh-so-slyly marketed myself! 


 

The Last of the Luddites

I drive a '95 Altima sans GPS, own a 17-inch convex-screen TV, and, after a year and a half without a cell phone, have had the absolute most basic one for a year now (so basic, in fact, that I'm often asked if it's a toy). And I'm fine with my Luddite life. It's everyone else who is up in arms about it. 

"How can you live like that?!" they cry out in horror. 

My philosophy has always been that technology should enhance my life, not take over my life. In other words, when the GPS stops working can you still figure out where you are? When you drop your cell phone in the toilet, do you still know how to use a payphone (do you even know where to find a payphone? Do you even know what a payphone is?). I laugh when others ask me how I cook my food without a microwave, how I plan my day without a BlackBerry or iPhone, and how I communicate with my friends without going on Facebook. Honestly, I pitied these fools who had traded in a functioning brain for a new gadget. 

 

And then I fell in love. 

When my toy phone started malfunctioning, I figured I would just give it up and go au naturel again. But one day I was walking past a phone store and something greater than me compelled me to go in and browse, just browse, the display case of shiny new phones. Like a customer sampling every flavor of ice cream at Baskin Robbins, I asked the assistant to pull out almost every phone for me to touch and test. I told him right up front that I was probably not going to buy one, and he just smiled and nodded. Not a declaration he was unfamiliar with, I'm sure. 

Very gently, hardly even intruding upon my personal space, he told me to go ahead and try out the touchscreen phones (after stifling a snicker at the standard keypad on my toy phone). 

"It's too weird," I complained. 

"I'm used to the old keypad," I whined. 

"There's too much info on this phone - I just want to talk and text," I insisted as my heartbeat picked up. 

And so I walked out of that store with my new Android smartphone. I have to admit it made me feel abundant, extravagant, grown-up, modern! 

I headed over to a coffee shop to meet my friend and spent the first half hour showing off my new phone, making him call and text me several times to test out various display screens and ringtones, pulling up our destination on the GPS even though I knew precisely where we were, gently laying it on a napkin to avoid the sticky table.... After he'd courteously admired it for as long as he could take, he stopped my enamored giggles cold with one line: "Now you're one of us."

My smile dropped. Oh dear. It was true. I had become one of them.

At that moment I lost my coveted martyr status of The Last of the Luddites. I could no longer make fun of the people who gaze at their gadgets more steadfastly than at the person across the table from them. I could no longer feel superior about arriving at my destination on Mapquest printouts and good ol' fashioned intuition. I could no longer point my accusatory finger and blame 'them' for everything that was wrong in the world. 

I was now one of 'them.' I worried that I was no longer special, that I would blend in with the masses, that I, too, had sold my soul and traded in a functioning brain for a new gadget. 

As I drove to pick up this same friend for lunch a few days later, he texted me 'are you and the phone engaged yet?' I laughed, but still worried about my soul. Until he hopped into my 15-year-old car and said, "Can't this horse and buggy go any faster?" I smiled broadly. I still retained my Luddite status and therefore my individuality in this technological age. 

Oh wait, was that a Nissan dealership we just passed...?



Originally published on In The Powder Room.