I Didn't Check My Voicemail for Two Months

Mon Mar 6, 03:38 PM by Joseph McClune

I got a cellphone a couple years ago. I know, I know, late bloomer and all that. To wit, the eventual cellphone-getting was actually against my will, reason being that I didn’t want to become a Slave to the Phone, as I had seen happen to many friends.


Alas, one sunny, comfortable day in December 2003, a wager was set forth by a coworker: Were I to find a residence that was at least 50 dollars per month cheaper than my previous one (I was moving in January) I was to purchase a cellphone. That day came a few weeks later, and soon I, one of the long holdouts, was finally the proud possessor of a shiny new silver thingy.

In the years since acquiring the cursed instrument, it has been my goal to assert my resistance to it on a regular basis. This has primarily been manifested in the form of Never Checking My Voicemail. It hasn’t ever been truly “never,” but rather once every week or so, sometimes immediately, when I’m expecting an important call.

This is the normal course of events:

Phone: RINGING I’M RINGING HELLO!
Joe: I am not able to hear you telephone, your efforts are in vain!
Phone: In that case, I will let you know that I WAS ringing by giving you a message on my screen! And then I will tell you that you also have a message waiting on your voicemail. Take that!
Joe: I will then call the indicated person, and competely ignore the fact that there is a message on my voicemail.
Person Who Previously Called: Hello?
Joe: Hey it’s Joe, I missed your call.
PWPC: Did you listen to my message?
Joe: NO.

That is usually how it goes. Some people might think that this is rude, or uncaring, or whatever they want to think. My rationale is that if I call the person back when I see that I’ve got a missed call, it is faster than having to dial in, listen to their message, and then call them back anyway to respond to whatever they left on my voicemail.

Recently I abandoned checking my voicemail completely. “If people really need to tell me something, they will tell me when I call them back. Or else they will call me again. I hate checking my voicemail.” These were my thoughts, and frankly, I turned out to be almost completely correct. Between December 28th, 2005 and February 23rd, 2006 I received 37 voicemails. Most of these are listed below in short form, with the caller’s name and relationship to me:

Will (friend): “Hey Buttfuxxxxxx, I love you like a sister.”
Meghan (girlfriend): “Hey Baby, my flight info is…”
David (friend): “HELLLOOOOO JOE HAPPY BIRTHDAY I’M WASTED IN NEW YORK WOOOOOOOOOOO! (various people screaming drunkenly)”
Rob (roommate): “Happy Birthday, uh, sorry, I pooped in your toilet. Sorry.”
Gabe (friend): “You’re old. And Fat. Later.”
Ryan (friend): “Yo. Call me up.”
Meghan (girlfriend): “I’m going to Amy’s.”
Mom (parent): “Happy New Year, talk to you later!”
Eric (friend): “Do you know any sports bars in the Bay Area where they have cheap pitchers?”
PS: Answer: NO.
Rob 2 (friend): “I need some Photoshop advice, but you’re probably making a Big Grumpy in the bathroom.”
Will (friend): “What up cocksucker, call when you ‘get a chance,’ bye.’”
Meghan (girlfriend): “Call me back, bye.”
Ted (friend): “Hey the website isn’t working yet, and put the address on the header.”
Adam (brother): “Our aunt invited us to go see our cousin in his school band we should go.”
Will (friend): “What’s up for tonight, drunken Alibi time? Call when you are done with practice.”
Rob 2 (friend): “I need a model for a photo shoot in Mexico, will you do it?”
Nicole (friend): “It’s scary here, OK bye.”
Dad (parent): “Nick needs help with a clean install because he has a virus. Can you help him out?”
Dave (friend): “I wrote a really retarded article but I think it’s funny. Call me back.”
Adam (brother): “What’s up for tonight?”
Will (friend): “What is up bunghole? Let’s hang out.”
Adam (brother): “We hooping or what?”
Will (friend): “What’s up buttfucker? I was running.”
Mark (friend): “What are you doing? I am at home.”
James (friend): “Yo dog. What up playa. You probably cuddlin’ wit a man or somethin’, word.”
Stephen (friend): “Is everyone at your house? Because they aren’t here and you are the only person they know. Or maybe they don’t.” Click.
Frank (friend): “What’s up sugar pumpkin, it’s 8:45 on Sunday morning there, HA!”
Amy (friend): “Is your girlfriend with you? Tell her I’ll be late.”
Marby (friend): “Hi! I was just in the bathroom because I ate too much candy too fast.”
Will (friend): “Hey duder. I have to work weekends for the rest of the month. Shit.”
Meghan (girlfriend): “I just got back from the gym, call me back.”
Mike (friend): “I’m on the train, pick me up unless you are playing football, later.”
Pat (cousin): “It’s 20 after 6. What is up? Later.”
Will (friend): “Hey douche, I’m going to happy hour. Later.”
Meghan (girlfriend): “Let’s grab a drink at 6, bye.”

I’m doubting highly that anyone is going to read all of those, so I will give you a quick rundown:

And then, a few days ago I had a little chat with my cellphone. The transcript:

Joe: I am not able to hear you telephone, your efforts are in vain!
Phone: In that case, I will let you know that I WAS ringing by giving you a message on my screen! And then I will tell you that you also have a message waiting on your voicemail. Take that!
Joe: Oh yeah, well FAT FUCKING CHANCE I’m even going to check it.
Phone: OMG I thought we were friends.
Joe: I’m not saying we can’t be friends, telephone. I’m just saying that we can’t do THAT anymore.

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