There is nothing in this world that I loathe quite so much as answering the phone only to hear a child’s voice on the other end saying, “May I please speak to Clyde?”
Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that I begrudge my children–or anybody else, for that matter–the use of the phone. I’m not one of those parents who sets up an egg timer next to the phone so that I can limit all calls to two minutes or less, nor am I one of those who pace nervously around while the phone is in use, all the while muttering things under my breath like, “If you have so much to say then why don’t you just write them a letter?” and “This phone needs to be free in case there is an emergency.” Hey, I was a teenage girl–once. I understand needing to use the phone. I know what it’s like to spend all day in school, only to have to spend another hour on the phone afterwards dissecting what, exactly, happened during the preceding seven.
In fact, as far as I’m concerned they can talk on the phone all they want. The more they’re on it the less I have to deal with all the calls for donations, surveys, and offers to save me “tons” of money on my car insurance. (How long do you think it was after Alexander Graham Bell first invented the telephone that he got a call from a telemarketer? I’m guessing it was almost instantaneous; the first phone call probably went “Watson! Come quick, I need (click click)–hang on, there’s someone on the other line.”)
No, it’s not the fact Clyde is using the phone that bothers me, it’s that his use of the phone always leads to my having to use it too. ( I must have used up my ability to talk on the phone for hours in high school, because as an adult I’m never happy when the phone rings. It’s probably the number one reason–next to cheapness–why I have never gotten a cell phone).
Whenever Clyde’s friends call him, I always end up on the phone. This is because, invariably, the last few words I hear Clyde say before he hangs up always are, “OK: see you there.”
“See you where?” I’ll ask.
“The pool (park, movies, Pay ‘n Take, etc.)” he’ll reply.
“What? When?”
“In a few minutes.”
“But what about violin (Cub Scouts, soccer, etc.)?”
“Oh.”
“Arghh.”
And then I’ll end up calling the child in question, asking to speak to the parent, and trying to untangle the mess of commitments that our children have just made together. (“Oh, Clyde can’t go to the two o’clock show? Well, how about….”) The next thing I know (because it’s already been promised, see?) is that somehow I’m the one stuck with taking four kids to see Mall Cop.
All because the other parent didn’t just call me in the first place. If they had, it would have been a different story:
“Can Clyde come see Mall Cop with us at two?”
“Sorry, he’s got violin.”
“Oh. Well, can you take them at four?”
“Sorry, I’d rather stick needles into my eyes until they fall out and then pour bleach into the empty sockets.”
“What?”
“(click click) Sorry–gotta go. Someone’s on the other line.”
See? Problem solved.