Buffalo Gal

I despise voicemail.
Please give me a live person at the other end of the line. If that person is unclear as to what they want or need, I can ask them questions. I like listening to live people. Infinite, rambling voicemail messages give me the heaves.
If I ruled the world, all voicemails would be limited to 15 seconds - with no call backs allowed.
People would actually have to think before they spoke. That's why no one will put me in charge.
I have voicemail on my cell phone and on my office phone. As both are tied to my work I must check them, often retrieving multiple messages on an hourly basis. There's actually a counter display from my work phone which pops up on my computer screen and shows how many messages are coming in while I'm on a real call talking to a real person.
That's just cruel.
One of my favorite bosses went to a time management class where he learned that if you simply go directly to subordinate voicemail with instructions you can skip pleasantries, save time and get more work done.
While I otherwise love working for the guy, I haven't yet found the class to tell me how to get back the chunks of my day spent trying to find him at his desk to answer or clarify the myriad daily one-way requests.
The red light on my desk phone and audible reminder on my cell taunt me in tandem. They take turns pinging if I dare excuse myself to the restroom or run downstairs for a soda.
By the time I get home, I am simply voicemailed out. I rarely use our home phone and never learned the code to pick up messages there. That's Charlie's job... and Charlie has been travelling for nearly a week.
When I pick up the home receiver there's a Tommy Gun series of clicks before the dial tone that gets a little longer every day.
Ed McMahon comes to the front door with those big checks, and anyone else who really wants to talk to me knows my other numbers.
I'm not in the least bit curious about those clicks. Like a toddler, I can stamp my foot and tell voicemail that it is not the boss of me.
At least on that line.
For a few more days.

Copyright 2008 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2008-04-21 7:06 PM Voicemail violation I despise voicemail. Please give me a live person at the other end of the line. If that person is unclear as to what they want or need, I can ask them questions. I like listening to live people. Infinite, rambling voicemail messages give me the heaves. If I ruled the world, all voicemails would be limited to 15 seconds - with no call backs allowed. People would actually have to think before they spoke. That's why no one will put me in charge. I have voicemail on my cell phone and on my office phone. As both are tied to my work I must check them, often retrieving multiple messages on an hourly basis. There's actually a counter display from my work phone which pops up on my computer screen and shows how many messages are coming in while I'm on a real call talking to a real person. That's just cruel. One of my favorite bosses went to a time management class where he learned that if you simply go directly to subordinate voicemail with instructions you can skip pleasantries, save time and get more work done. While I otherwise love working for the guy, I haven't yet found the class to tell me how to get back the chunks of my day spent trying to find him at his desk to answer or clarify the myriad daily one-way requests. The red light on my desk phone and audible reminder on my cell taunt me in tandem. They take turns pinging if I dare excuse myself to the restroom or run downstairs for a soda. By the time I get home, I am simply voicemailed out. I rarely use our home phone and never learned the code to pick up messages there. That's Charlie's job... and Charlie has been travelling for nearly a week. When I pick up the home receiver there's a Tommy Gun series of clicks before the dial tone that gets a little longer every day. Ed McMahon comes to the front door with those big checks, and anyone else who really wants to talk to me knows my other numbers. I'm not in the least bit curious about those clicks. Like a toddler, I can stamp my foot and tell voicemail that it is not the boss of me. At least on that line. For a few more days. Copyright 2008 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top