Why I Don't (Or Didn't, Anyway) Check My Messages

Janurary 30, 1997

By Morgan Carlson

I have, on the average, very few strong personal beliefs. I'm only an
atheist by default, and my liberal Republican views are, at best,
contradictory. (Look, no censorship and pro-choice are great things, but
enough of those Democratic special funds, okay? We really don't need a
Lesbian Seahorse department or a Funding For The Sanitation Arts.) Wow,
that was pretty political for one of my letters. Let me insert a few
obscenities to get back in the groove: fuckin' fuck of a fucked fuck.
There, where was I?
Oh yeah, my beliefs. One of my beliefs - actually, it's more of a
quirk than a belief - is to not check my personal voice mail. I've seen
too many people get overly attached to that damn voice mailbox. C'mon,
guys, when you're checking your voice mail from other people's rooms, I
think we know it's a problem. Here's a little scenario with me and one
of my friends - I'm not using their name cause I'm a little chickenshit.
Me - "Random Phone-Addicted Friend, who are you calling?"
RPAF - "I'm checking my messages."
Me - "Dude, you've been here for forty minutes. Chill."
RPAF - "Shut up, Morgan. We of the phone cult take great offense when
our voice mail beliefs come under attack. See, I got a message."
Me - "From who?"
RPAF - "Er.... from my R.A. .... somebody shit in the showers again."
Allan - "Why is everyone looking at me?"
I think, however, that Carrie is your queen, phone people. Not only
can she pull all kinds of crazy Ma Bell shit with party-line and all
kinds of other stuff, she actually - I am not kidding - checks her voice
mail while talking with someone else (well, maybe she just does it with
me..... I'd buy that) on the phone. Now that, my dear, is abuse of the
three-way phone system.
Still, with everyone (namely, Brie-Anne) yelling at me to check my
messages, I finally got the gumption to do it. The phone system had
already erased the messages that were two months old, but it insisted on
making me hear the sender, time, and date for EACH MESSAGE. 32 messages
into the ordeal, I was more than just a little tired of hearing 'the
woman' say:
"Next message..... sent, Wednesday, December 22nd, at 2:37.... from
Tara McCarthy.... has been erased. Hear this message deletion notice
again, press 1. Erase, press....... yadda yadda yadda."
Alright, who the fuck is Tara McCarthy? Why did I have 40 messages
from her over break? Was she that girl I kept harassing on-line?
MORGASM - "So, what are you wearing?"
HOTCHICK019 - "Clothes."
MORGASM - "Ooohhhh, frisky."
Look, Tara, whoever you are, I only took my pants off on-line. I doubt
there's any sexual harassment laws for that. So just drop the charges.
Besides, it was my roommate using my account. Yeah.
Best yet, I got to listen to my most recent message gems. Here are my
favorites:
"Yo Phil, I need to ask you a quick question. Later."
"Morgan, the guy's name was Puddy. Later. Jeanine."
"Hey Hofstra, here's what's happening on campus this weekend! Kappa
Omega Lambda Beta Epsilon's Naked, Drunk Cheerleader Party will be held
at.... oh, fuck it, no one listens to these activites messages, anyway.
Look, you little maggots, don't go to campus activites, see if I care. I
wish there were voice mailbombs."
So, except for Jeanine, no one of any real value had a message for me.
All of Brie-Anne's and Carrie's cool messages were automatically erased
to make room for that guy looking for Phil.
"Phil, how come you ain't calling back? I traced your number, man.....
1405 Enterprise! I'm comin' for you, bitch, and I'm bringin' a
sledgehammer. Welcome to the nightmare, motherfucker."
I'd try to call him to keep him from coming over, but hey, we really
need a new roommate.
- Morgan -

ecent.