I have a crazy woman in the office right now flipping out. You see, her daughter, another crazy bird, is supposed to be here but she is not. She wants to use our phone so, to limit my actual activity with this loon, I acquiesce.
From here I will type in the conversation I heard once she realized she was getting an answering machine. Before the recording part of the proceedings she said,
“Oh! Her answering machine! I’m getting her answering machine! I want to talk to her now! I want to know what’s going. . .” I must assume now that the answering machine beeped because she turned her attention from want to attention grabbing.
“. . .Sandra! Sandra! SANDRA! Pick up the phone! It’s Mom!” I’m assuming this isn’t the first time she’s left a message on her answering machine so now she’s just using her status as Mom as a power play.
“What’s going on!?! I want to know what’s going on! Right now! Where are you? Pick up the phone! Pick up the phone! Sandra! It’s Mom! Pick up the phone right now!”
It’s at this juncture in the conversation I think,
‘If I were on the other end of this message, I wouldn’t care if she was calling to tell me she was shitting diamonds and pissing Heineken, I’d never pick up that phone.’
“SANDRA! It’s Mom!” She adds in case you’ve forgotten the players. “I want you to pick up the phone right now!” She sighs loudly while banging the phone on her thigh.
“You are supposed to be here right now! Are you on your way!?! Pick up the phone right now!” The fact that Sandra could not accomplish both tasks simultaneously comes to mind. Mine not Mom’s.
“I’m here! Where are you!?! SANDRA! Pick up the phone! Why aren’t you picking up the phone!?! Sandra! It’s Mom! PICK . . . UP . . . THE . . . PHONE! I drove all the way from New Hampshire for you! The least you can do is pick up the phone!”
She pauses for a moment to give her daughter time to absorb the reason for this phone call, her mother’s current inhabitance, as a call to react. To the daughter this call must still a be little vague because, from the mother’s reaction, there was no response.
“SANDRA! I want to talk to you right now!”
By this time, even a dumbshit like me is starting to grasp the purpose of this call. Why, oh why, is Sandra having comprehension trouble? Maybe she’s in trouble? Kidnapped? Fallen and can’t drag herself to the phone! Maybe worse!
“Are you there!?!” The mother barks into the phone once more before giving up the ghost. Once again, she slumps with a sigh. She looks at me. I fight the urge to look back. But I do. For you. Being the inquisitive type I know you want to know the mother’s anguished expression at her daughters lack of response and possible death. She looks at me, nods her head solemnly and waves the phone in frantically in front of her face.
“I don’t know why I got such a fuck up for a daughter.”
I don’t know if the daughter knew her mother felt that way but I’m sure she does now.
My dear friend, for your future edification, when saying something that may be construed as, let’s just say, inflammatory about someone you’ve just left a message for, make sure to hang up the phone first.