What drives me up the latest tree is the incredibly egoistic idea that I might want to listen to your choice of badly-transmitted “music” while your bloody mobile phone rings. It’s bad enough I have to listen to the stupid robot if you don’t pick up. Why should I have to listen to some bullshit expression of your execrable taste while waiting for the amazing privilege of maybe getting to speak to you?

And while we’re at it, what’s with this compulsion to find out who called? If I’d wanted to leave a message, I would have left it. Clearly I either mis-dialed or decided I didn’t want to speak to you, so whyever in the world would you call to see what I didn’t want to say? Are you that insecure, or just working for the first prize ribbon in self-centeredness?

You call me, fail to take the trouble to leave a message, and see if I call you back. Not a freaking chance! That’s what voice mail is for, dingbat. If you can’t be bothered, you can darned well bet that I can’t either.

And ditch the stupid tunes. They’re passive-aggressive as they can be, and bad manners to boot.

Jeez!

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