Does the welcome message for your phone sound like someone making love? John Simpson's does.
Recently I got an SMS from my mobile phone supplier (who will remain nameless - despite being the world's only telco that can't spell the word phone). The SMS said a new voicemail system was now in place, and I had to redo my welcome message.
For someone that chokes at the Macca's drive-thru, setting my voicemail message is like pulling teeth. What should I say? Should I sound cheery and lighthearted, like I've just found twenty bucks in my pants? Should I be business-like, like Bill Gates in a courtroom? Should I just wing it and hope it sounds casual?
It turns out I didn't get a choice. After coming home from a jog, my phone began flashing, telling me there was a new message. Dialing up, I was shocked to hear that I first had to enter a new greeting. Foiled! Trying to get my breath, the message I recorded went something like this:
"Hi there (puff). This is John and (huff) you've called his phone." Stating the obvious - clever. "I can't take your (wheez) call right now because I'm not here." Then there's a pause. "Actually (snort) I may be here, but just... umm... indisposed." Oh geez, that was lame. "Anyway, please (puff) talk after the beep." Then another pause. Was there going to be a beep? What if it was some other noise, or even a tune? Maybe beeps were being phased out? "Or after I finish talking... which is now..." Then there's a few scratching noises, as I fumble to find the star key, then a curse as I realise it should be the hash.
Of course I could've re-recorded the message, but in my heady state all I wanted was a nice lie down. It's remained that way since (I've noticed a sharp decline in the number of people leaving me a message, so maybe that's not a bad thing).
All of us have some sort of technophobia, be it talking to answering machines, installing RAM without a static strap, or using a toaster in the bath. Technology enables us to perform tasks that would previously have been performed by someone far more skilled.
Often, the technophobia comes from knowing you're pretty well screwed without it. As the French would say, it's got you by le balls.
I know some people that have a grave fear of not pleasing the Microsoft Office assistant - if it doesn't appear, they think Word is broken and log a service call (versus some people that think Word is broken when it does appear). Other folk refuse to turn their optical mouse over, for fear of being blinded. There are even some Atomicans (you know who you are) that panic if their CPU temps rise a little. The temperature gauge becomes a metaphorical squirrel gripper.
Then there's a select few that view technology as something more than a necessity - more like a religion, and they are the evangelists. A recent TV program documented the infamous hackers Electron and Phoenix - two suburban whiz-kids pushing their buttons by. . . umm. . . pushing buttons. They insist the reason they hacked into sites like Nasa and Citibank was to simply prove they could - not to steal credit card numbers or give some investigative cop a hernia. Electron claims he would spend 18 hours a day online, and the other six thinking about it.
Like Neo on a bender, these hackers are reviled for their skill at understanding the technology and being able to manipulate it. This is in stark contrast to the majority of the population, who think a video card is something you use in Solitaire.
Here am I, stuck in the middle of both camps. I know what's possible with the technology, but I'm pitifully inadequate at making it work for me. Like a castrato in a whorehouse, I know exactly what I could be doing, but just don't have the right tools. Even though I know it's terribly un-PC (and I certainly don't condone hacking in itself), I've got to salute guys like Electron. They don't fear the technology - it fears them.
So it's back to me and my voicemail. One day I'll make a really good message and become my own technology hero. Until then, if you hear a voicemail message that sounds like a guy having sex, it's probably mine.
Issue: 137 | June, 2012