With all the texting and tweeting and Facebook messaging and Tumblring and e-mailing and IM’ing and the rest, I sometimes forget about the old-fashioned phone call. And then I see a Seinfeld rerun, and there’s Jerry picking up that huge-ass phone with this long antenna sticking out of it. He’s walking around his apartment all cool, like, “Ha! I live in New York and I have one of those phones you can walk around with inside your home.” When he’s done, he puts it back in a charger the size of a cat carrier. Too weird.
Nobody uses the phone anymore except your mother and telemarketers or old friends who don’t have your cell or can’t find you on Facebook.
So, yes, when the landline rings, it’s always a bit of a shock. I jump out of my skin just like in that old horror movie where the babysitter answers the phone and that evil voice asks, “Have you checked the children?” Yeah, it’s just like that.
You know what I really hate? When you answer the phone and someone sounds profoundly disappointed.
“Ohhhhh, I was just going to leave a message,” they say with a noticeable pout. “I didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”
Yes, by all means, forgive the crap out of me for answering a ringing phone in my own home.
These days, I conduct most of my business via text, including texting to make an appointment to talk on the phone (only if absolutely necessary). You can’t just call someone out of the blue. If they answered their phone, I wouldn’t even know what to say and would probably just ask to speak to their voice mail.
So, yes, I text just like God and the Unlimited Texting Plan from AT&T World Domination intended. Texting eliminates all the useless prattle and chatter. We’ve got lives here, people. Just text your bullshit problem/question/observation to me. Sister Mary Francis.
When I do actually answer the home phone, it’s usually with full-on dread and trepidation. Has someone in the family expired? Did I forget to pay the water bill? What? Oh, it’s just the local public radio station reminding me it’s pledge-drive time. It’s always pledge-drive time. Those people got more pledge drives than I got hot flashes. It really doesn’t go well if they call during a hot flash.
“You can make the pledge online, if you prefer,” they say. Oh, no you did-unt.
“And you can just e-mail me. Don’t call me at this number. I keep this landline for three reasons: Mama, Aunt Verlie, and because I have no idea how to cancel it without mucking up my cable/internet/phone/TiVo package!”
When family does call on “the real phone,” as they call it, it’s always bad news. Aunt Verlie reports that her sister-in-law has finally gone so dotty that, when nature calls, she starts lifting up her nightgown as soon as she gets out of bed and walks through the house to the bathroom, pulling the gown higher and higher in anticipation of her arrival on the throne. Doesn’t care who sees her. Yeah, there’s a mental image I can never get rid of.
My handyman sends a text when he’s coming over. Ditto the cleaning lady and the yard guy. We’re conducting business, here; there is no need for endless conversation. It’s fabulous!
I’ve never been a talk-on-the-phone person but rather one who paces like a caged lioness in flannel pj’s when a call lasts over ten minutes, complete with mock stabbing myself in the chest if it’s over fifteen minutes.
Dinner plans? Text me. We don’t need to talk for thirty minutes when we’re going to see each other at night anyway. There won’t be anything left to talk about, so we’ll sit there, stirring our after-dinner coffee too long and sneaking a peek at our cell phones to check the time.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” a friend says.
Arrrrggggh.
Now, I will admit that it’s possible that things have gone too far and that manners have been severely compromised. For instance, just this morning, Duh Hubby was earnestly asking about plans for this evening, and I just held up my hand to stop him and said, “I’ll text you the details.”
I just didn’t have the energy for all that back-and-forth and give-and-take. So, I just texted him a one-sentence description of plans for tonight. Done. Fortunately, Duh likes this trait and has often said that I “think like a man,” whatever the hell that means. I think he means it as a compliment because I’m a fan of the quick, short answer and seldom talk about my hair. My hideous, pitifully thin, lifeless hair. What little there is of it. Don’t get me started.…
Question: I still like the old-fashioned phone call, but all my friends act strangely irritated when I call them and a few of them have even ended the call with a quick, “I’ll text you later.” I miss the sound of a human voice.
Ha! I hear voices all the time. And they’re telling me to tell you that it’s 2013. You’re old-school and it’s charming in a way. Smallpox was old-school, too, but we finally beat that down. We’ll beat you down, too.
Question: I am so disgusted by people who rudely answer their cell phones when I’m in the middle of a conversation with them. Another pet peeve? I gave a dinner party recently, and one of the guests texted all the way through dessert. What should I say to people who behave so abominably?
Texting at the table? Are your friends fourteen? I believe that when adults behave this way, you can just say, “Are we disturbing your phone call with our incessant polite dinner party conversation?” Sure, it’s like a 12 on the 0–10 bitchiness scale, but that’s some tacky shit you just described. The public shaming should work.
As to people who answer a call while you’re talking to them in person, guilty as charged. I’ve even said, “Excuse me, I really have to take this,” because, sometimes, you really do have to take this. Cell phones keep us available all the time, and if it’s business, sometimes you have to take the call. If you can determine that it’s not either work-related or “Shit, I forgot to pick up my kid from gymnastics again”–related, let it go to voice mail. And to those of you who have called me out on this, I apologize. Then again, if you were just a little more interesting, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. You might want to work on that.
Question: How do I deal with texts from someone I don’t know? It seems like it’s happening more frequently lately. Do I respond and say, “I’m not who you think I am?” Do I ignore it?
Funny you should ask. Not long ago, I received a text message that said:
ANY fresh vegetables, for God’s sake. Spinach, carrots, lettuce. We R done here!
I have no idea who sent it or why they were so angry about vegetable acquisition, but to use the lingo of the young, it was a classic texting fail.
I texted back:
Wrong recipient.
They texted back:
Sorry.
No harm done, and now that the vegetable rage had been vented, perhaps they could send a more civilized text to the correct recipient.
By the way, texting fails are appallingly common, thanks to the horror that is autocorrect.
DAD:
Your mom and I are going to divorce next month.
DAUGHTER:
WHAT?!? Why??? Call me. Please!!!
DAD:
I wrote Disney and the damn autocorrect changed it. We are going to DISNEY next month.
Question: Is nothing sacred? Every Sunday, at least one cell phone rings during the worship service. Why can’t people either turn their phones off or, better still, leave them in their car for one hour?
You are preaching to the choir, my friend. At my church (yes, I go every week; can you think of anyone who needs it more?), it happens all the time and almost always during the pastoral prayer. I can’t tell you how unsettling it is to be thoughtfully meditating on the minister’s words and suddenly hear that unmistakable classic, “Me So Horny,” blast out from a few pews away. Your solution is perfect: Leave the phone in the car. Amen.
Question: I was nearly sideswiped by a guy who was texting while driving. What’s the proper etiquette on following him home and beating the living shit out of him with a baseball bat?
While I normally find violent behavior unseemly
, this image actually made me tingle with pleasure. It’s the same way I feel every time I watch Denzel open up a can of high-tech whup-ass in Man On Fire, the best revenge flick of all time. Truth is, I’ve had the exact same experience with a texting asshole and was too shaken up to think about revenge at that moment. But now, in the cold light of day, it sounds pretty reasonable to me. Be sure to observe proper “beating the shit out of somebody” etiquette. Introduce yourself, state the reason for your visit, and proceed with caution; that is, making sure there are no witnesses.
Texting while driving is terrifying on many levels. I am forever telling the Princess that if she does that, there will be severe consequences—yes, the worst fate imaginable: She will be forced to sit between her parents at every home basketball game. Shudder!
Question: You know those Bluetooth gizmos? I can’t tell when the person in front of me who is wearing one is talking to me or someone on the phone. It’s embarrassing to say “Oh, I’m fine” and realize they weren’t even talking to you. What’s the etiquette on this annoying accessory?
Bluetooth should be used only when you’re in your car and need to talk on the phone, hands-free. It should never remain affixed to your ear in public places like you’re Secret Service or some shit. I despise seeing people walking along, talking to themselves like Legitimate Crazy People and then, just as I’m all set to mock them, I see that hateful little blue blinking light. The first time I saw one, I thought it was counting down to when her head was going to explode. Good times.
chapter 26
Overnight Guests: The Tale of the Screw
I know I cited a skit from Saturday Night Live a few chapters back, but there was another recurring bit that illustrated wretched behavior and was called “The Thing That Wouldn’t Leave.” The “Thing” was the world’s most obnoxious guest imaginable, knocking over dainty collectibles, hogging all the food, and in a scene that now seems a bit dated but was hysterically funny at the time, asking, “Mind if I make a few long-distance phone calls?”
Being a good houseguest isn’t just good manners; it’s good sense if you ever want to be invited back. Don’t piss off the college friend who has an oceanfront condo you just love to visit every summer. Make sure that you are the one guest that leaves the place better than you found it. Don’t be the Thing That Wouldn’t Leave. Benjamin Franklin was right: Fish and houseguests should be tossed after three days. Read on.…
Question: When my brother and his family, which includes three kids under ten, come to visit for a week every summer, they act like we are their servants. They never clean up their own messes, and they never even offer to take us out to dinner in exchange for our hospitality. How can we let them know the jig is up?
Your brother is quite the asshat, isn’t he? I’m guessing he used to flush your Barbies and put your bra in the freezer? His numbskull wife isn’t any better or this wouldn’t be happening.
Well, you know what they say about family. You choose your friends but you are saddled with your inconsiderate family members for the rest of your life until one of you dies a slow, withering death in the Times Up! Nursing Home & Rehabilitation Center.
What? That’s not what they say? Well. I’m sure it’s close.
Your knuckleheaded brother and his family have a good thing going. They drop in for a week to bunk with you and tour the local sights. After a day spent admiring the World’s Largest Hairball or some such, they return in time for a lovely dinner and find you deep into a bottle of Three Buck Chuck and brimming with resentment. You, my friend, are a powder keg.
I suggest you go ahead and explode. Tell them the truth: They will never be invited back, ever, until they can help with household chores, keep the place tidy, take you out to dinner or offer to babysit for you at least a couple of nights.
End this ridiculous suffering in silence. He’s your brother, not the Dalai Lama. Tell him that it’s been real, but if he wants to visit, and he balks at helping out, the local Days Inn is a better option. And, yes, you do realize that “hotels cost money.” Man, I’m really starting to hate this guy.…
Question: What is my responsibility as a hostess to ferry my houseguests to and from the airport? They don’t seem to mind asking me to do so even if their flights are in the wee hours. Why can’t they call a taxi?
You know the old saying: You give them an inch, they’ll take a yard; you give them a yard, they’ll want a swimming pool in it.… Some houseguests seem to think that they’re entitled to the All-Inclusive Plan. Which is odd, considering you’re giving them a free place to stay and, I’m assuming, many meals. As I used to tell the Princess when she was four: “Use your words.” Try saying: “That’s not convenient, but here’s the number to call for a cab.”
Oooh, I can just hear those big-girl panties being snapped into place!
Question: Why is it that every time I have a houseguest, this otherwise normal adult seems incapable of operating a coffeemaker, microwave, et cetera, without howling for help. I’m talking about thirty-something professionals here.
I’m glad you qualified the age part, because it does make a difference. For instance, I would completely understand if your elderly parents were visiting and you simply said, “Oh! You can catch up on Psych on Netflix while you’re here. It’s streaming season one right now,” and they just looked at you as though you were speaking in tongues.
But yes, of course, a thirty-something professional should not need a primer on how to operate any of these gizmos. I myself have a Tassimo coffeemaker. I love it. It loves me. But if anyone besides me tries to use it, there is a great deal of angst. (“I can’t get the little light to come on.” And really, “little” light?) Ditto the microwave. (“Where’s the setting for partial thaw of cream-based entrees? I can’t find it!”) Blenders befuddle normally capable adults, what with their On and Off button. My advice: Show them how everything operates once; then, they’re on their own. Hopefully you won’t find your Ph.D. sister-in-law sticking the meat tongs into the toaster while it’s on, but nothing would surprise me.
Question: No matter how many times I’ve asked one particular houseguest not to feed weird stuff like candy to my dog, he insists on doing it. He thinks it’s a cute thing that bonds him to the dog. How do I approach this without offending him?
Try saying: “That chocolate bar will kill my dog. It will cost about $2,300 for the emergency vet visit, blood test, X-rays, exploratory surgery, and eventual cremation and delivery of the remains. We good here?”
This brings up another sticky issue for houseguests. We have two cats these days, and I’ve had as many as five back when I was a single woman who lived alone and subscribed to Offensive Stereotypes Monthly. If you have a new houseguest, be sure to let them know you have cats. You’d be surprised to find out how many people are quite violently allergic to cats and just how hard it is to understand them when they’re all blue in the face and choking to death. They’re really dreadful conversationalists when this happens.
Question: My in-laws, who live out of state and visit several times a year, hate to eat anywhere except chain restaurants. We’d love to show them the wonderful little bistros in town, but they only want to go to Red Lobster or T.G.I. Friday’s and the like. What do you make of this?
Have you had the garlic cheese biscuits at Red Lobster? I mean, there could be worse things than being forced to make a meal on those babies, am I right?
I get that you want to show off your town and introduce your in-laws to the finer things, but really, it’s completely out of their comfort zone and you may have to respect that.
My Aunt Verlie (yes, the one who makes bedroom shoes out of maxi pads decorated with little satin roses) is convinced that everyone should eat only at chain restaurants because these little intimate local spots you mentioned use fresh food instead of frozen, and, well, that shit will kill you.
Don’t die on this hill. You can hit the bistros after they’re gone. And by the way, your in-laws don’t want to suffer thr
ough yet another lecture on the relative merits of the Chilean varietals to the perky little Hungarian red you just discovered. In fact, no one does.
Question: I can’t prove it, but I’m 99 percent certain that my mother-in-law is snooping through our medicine cabinets when she visits. Should I say something to her about this?
I’m 100 percent certain that you should not. Of course your mother-in-law is going through your medicine cabinet. They all do it. Believe me, it’s punishment enough for her to know that you use a testosterone supplement and you’re only thirty-two and she can’t talk about it with her daughter, because that would confirm that she snooped. Years ago, advice maven Ann Landers reprinted a reader’s suggestion to fill the medicine cabinet with marbles to find out who is snooping. This way, when the offender opened the door, the marbles would noisily spill out and the perp would be exposed. While this would be fun for about twenty seconds, it wouldn’t be worth it in the long run. Keep the peace: When Mom visits, remove anything controversial from the medicine cabinet and put it in your sock drawer. The locked one where you keep your porn. You’re welcome.
Question: This is rather indelicate, but I simply must ask—is it poor etiquette for my boyfriend and me to have sex in a guest bedroom while visiting relatives who have invited us to D.C.? No one seems to mind that we sleep together, and, well, we are normal, healthy adults. Shouldn’t they expect that we would “enjoy ourselves” on vacation?
Oh, that’s just gross. Your relatives are opening their home to you so you’ll have a free place to stay while you spend the day visiting the Smithsonian, the U.S. Treasury, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and myriad other must-see spots in our nation’s capital. What they are not doing is offering you a place to do the devil’s aerobics like a couple of hormonally charged teenagers let loose in Cabo.
Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas Page 15
