Tag Archives: what not to do

Mr. Drivel Master

This is just an open plea to the universe.  Men, I beg you — no, I implore you — to, when you leave voicemail messages, don’t be an idiot.

The following is a voicemail that a guy left on my friend’s machine.  The guy in question is an American, and my plaint is one that transcends ethnicity, nationality, and even gender.  Please, people, don’t ever leave a voicemail like this:

Uh, hey.  Monique.  I think this is Monique or it’s some French person who can’t understand anything I’m staying, but I’m french, so there you go, even though you probably don’t understand, oh cuz your’e french.  Anyway, I dunno, I figured I’d give you a call, say what’s up.  So… what’s up.   How’s your eye doing?   Are they still being a bitch to you at work?   I hope they’re not.

And also, do you have any idea, either it’s just cuz late here, you know, cuz I’m working, either cuz it’s, like, late here, or I’m just a complete retard, but it’s very complicated to call France.  Like, surprisingly.  You’d think that you could dial in the number, but no, you can’t do that, cuz, you know, no phone plans have, you know, international calling.  So, like, when I called you last time, I got this El Toro World Caller at the gas station.   And, uh, I still had a bunch of minutes left.  So, like, I’m freaking calling her ass and annoying her.

But hopefully I’m not annoying you.   Hopefully you’re like, oh cool, Stephen called.  Or you’re just like, why the hell did Stephen just call.  Or a combination of both, or you’re just some French person that doesn’t understand anything I’m saying and  you’ve probably already deleted this message.  Cuz I think that thing that left the message was automated, but I couldn’t understand it was saying, I dunno, my dad should’ve taught me French.  It’s all his fault.

So anyway, so yeah, that’s what I’m doing.

Sooo, I know what you should do.  You should call me here in America, cuz that would be awesome, so my phone number is, whatever the country code is, and all that complicated stuff, I don’t understand any of that, but if you’re in America, you’d just dial XXX and then XXX and then XXXX.  So that’s XXX XXX XXXX.  And again, you know, all this international dialing stuff.  Who the hell knows how that works.  Whoever invented that, you know, I’m gonna have a talk with them or something.

So, that’s my long rambling message.  I hope that you actually get this, and hopefully you’re teaching, some, you know,  I dunno, French people english or something.  You know, and uh, hopefully you can see out of your left eye and all that good stuff.  So, uh, yeah, talk to you later.

Oh!  One more thing, if you’re not some random French person and I actually dialed this number right.

That was the unabridged transcript of ONE voicemail, folks.  And it would have been longer, had the system not cut him off.  And nobody will ever know what his ‘one more thing’ was, since my friend was so horrified by this voicemail that she will never call him again.

And just a an FYI, the paragraph breaks and even the punctuation are my editorial additions to facilitate your reading and prevent you from straining your eyes.  The actual voicemail was just one long, interminable ramble.

Since you actually sat through that unending drivel, I will spare you any further eye strain by ending this blog entry here.  The transcript truly speaks for itself and needs no further comment.


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