An Open Letter

If you have never stumbled upon (or StumbledUpon.com'ed) the site McSweeney's, (www.mcsweeneys.net/tendency) you really need to . Seriously. It's loads better than the crap you're going to get on this site. One of the best sections is entitled, "Open Letters To People Or Entities Who Are Unlikely To Respond." Examples include:

- An Open Letter to Walgreens
- An Open Letter to Emails Requesting Volunteers for Office Events
 - An Open Letter to a Friend Who Prolifically Sends Me No Fewer Than Four StumbleUpon Links a Day

(Okay, that last one hurt. I know who you are, and I sincerely thought that you'd enjoy that interactive guide to the evolution of a hipster. From now on, when you want to figure out if plaid is geek or geek chic, you are on your own.)

It's actually a pretty great creative idea, with the added bonus that it allows you to let off a little steam. In fact, this afternoon, I thought of an open letter I'd like to send out to a special someone ...


An Open Call To My Personal Greeting On My Office Phone Voicemail

Dear Voicemail,

Hi it's ... oh ... yeah, I don't want to leave a ... um ... if I could just talk to you for a sec--

BEEP!

Hi. It's me again. Sorry that I keep missing you, I must be calling at bad times. Anyway, I just have one question I'd like to ask you:

Who the hell do you think you are?

That's right, voice on my voicemail. I have a beef to pick with you. I trusted you, VM. I really did. I gave you a simple message, and all you had to do was pass it along to people when I couldn't pick up the phone. And what did you do? You took my breathtakingly competent, respect-inspiring voice and snarled it through that twisty cord of yours until it plopped onto my phone ruined. Some lispy, high-pitched, shaky shadow of its former glory. I know everyone's voice never sounds exactly right when played back. But come on. Now when people call in, they are going to think that this office is inhabited by Papa Smurf after he just got kicked in the Smurfberries.

Listen, VM. We're a team here, representing this office. I did my part. I spoke slowly. I pronounced T's I normally zip right by.  I gave you no less than four takes for each of the following: primary personal greeting, conditional personal greeting, call forwarding personal greeting, no answer personal greeting, busy line personal greeting. And I sounded AMAZING every time. Operatic almost, with a full tenor foundation and just a hint of inflection for emotion. Professional yet warm. Conversational yet concise.

And what did you do? You undermined me at every turn. You ratcheted up my salutation of "Hi!" from a chipper to hysterical. You sprinkled awkward pauses between every clause, when I SPECIFICALLY remember making smooth transitions. Seriously, you are like fluorescent lighting in a Kohl's fitting. Room: every flaw that I thought I covered, your tinny system decided to highlight and throw right back in my ear.

You've given me no choice. I'm going to hang up, call back, go into User Options, and record you again. But this is the last time. If you still show up Smurf-like, I'm going to have to resort to my last option: unplugging my phone until I get selected as a caller for NPR's "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me." First prize is an answering machine message read by baritone Carl Kasell. And he's going to kick your ass so hard, you'll wish you could go back to the good ol' days of party lines and rotary dialing.

Sincerely,

Me