Sunday, February 13, 2005
Call Me Anytime
“May I have your phone number?” She asked, her eyebrows arched in sultry anticipation.
It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but I still get this question from time to time. It’s nice, like being carded when you’re in a bar—or so I imagine. I’m always flattered when women show an interest. Lately though, it’s been happening a lot more frequently. I can’t really explain it. It’s not like I’ve been working out or had my teeth capped or anything. This most recent time was the girl at Cheap Clips who runs the counter and drives the big broom during interludes between customer check-ins. But that was just the beginning. Here are some snippets from the rest of my day.
Pizza place: Thanks for calling Mystic Pizza—please hold. {Extended pause} Thanks for holding; would you like to try our cinnamon cheesy garlic breadsticks?
Me: Not really, I would like a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza though. I’ll come pick it up.
Pizza place: Can I get your phone number?
Me: There’s no need to call, we can do the transaction now if you like--I’m ready.
Pizza place: We use it to get your address.
Me: I’ll come and get it. So, the whole address thing is sort of a moot point then.
Pizza place: We put it on the box.
Me: You might want to think about caller ID, then the number would be right there for you. What if you just write "OZ" on the box?
Pizza place: Huh?
Me: Exactly. Now, do those cheesy sticks come with any dipping sauces at all?
A similar exchange took place at my next stop, Video Hut.
Video store clerk: Can I have your telephone number?
Me: Oh thanks, I’m flattered. But just the movies please--I’m kinda going to stay in tonight.
Video store clerk: We use it to pull up your account.
Me: Could you use my membership card instead? You see, I’m waiting for an important call from my pizza place and I don’t want to tie up the line.
Video store clerk: Do you want to pay this late fee tonight? I show you had “Naughty Nurse Intensive Care IV: Bedside Manners” out, and it was four days overdue and when it came back the DVD was chipped and had teeth marks on it.
Me: I didn’t rent that. That was my wife.
By now, the people behind me are starting to make ugly noises.
This never happens at my grocery store. Although, it’s not much better there. Clerks are all trained to make direct eye contact with each customer and smile. I find this unnerving. I like a little surly in my service people. Also, no matter what I’m buying—Tic Tacs, a birthday card, Chapstick, whatever—the kid always asks, “Would you like some help out with that?” It’s insulting. I am a young, healthy male, fully capable of carrying a can of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles out to my car. Who do they think they’re talking to anyway? I’m not quite *that* old yet.
Hell. I’ll have you know that women all over town are begging me for my phone number…
It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but I still get this question from time to time. It’s nice, like being carded when you’re in a bar—or so I imagine. I’m always flattered when women show an interest. Lately though, it’s been happening a lot more frequently. I can’t really explain it. It’s not like I’ve been working out or had my teeth capped or anything. This most recent time was the girl at Cheap Clips who runs the counter and drives the big broom during interludes between customer check-ins. But that was just the beginning. Here are some snippets from the rest of my day.
Pizza place: Thanks for calling Mystic Pizza—please hold. {Extended pause} Thanks for holding; would you like to try our cinnamon cheesy garlic breadsticks?
Me: Not really, I would like a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza though. I’ll come pick it up.
Pizza place: Can I get your phone number?
Me: There’s no need to call, we can do the transaction now if you like--I’m ready.
Pizza place: We use it to get your address.
Me: I’ll come and get it. So, the whole address thing is sort of a moot point then.
Pizza place: We put it on the box.
Me: You might want to think about caller ID, then the number would be right there for you. What if you just write "OZ" on the box?
Pizza place: Huh?
Me: Exactly. Now, do those cheesy sticks come with any dipping sauces at all?
A similar exchange took place at my next stop, Video Hut.
Video store clerk: Can I have your telephone number?
Me: Oh thanks, I’m flattered. But just the movies please--I’m kinda going to stay in tonight.
Video store clerk: We use it to pull up your account.
Me: Could you use my membership card instead? You see, I’m waiting for an important call from my pizza place and I don’t want to tie up the line.
Video store clerk: Do you want to pay this late fee tonight? I show you had “Naughty Nurse Intensive Care IV: Bedside Manners” out, and it was four days overdue and when it came back the DVD was chipped and had teeth marks on it.
Me: I didn’t rent that. That was my wife.
By now, the people behind me are starting to make ugly noises.
This never happens at my grocery store. Although, it’s not much better there. Clerks are all trained to make direct eye contact with each customer and smile. I find this unnerving. I like a little surly in my service people. Also, no matter what I’m buying—Tic Tacs, a birthday card, Chapstick, whatever—the kid always asks, “Would you like some help out with that?” It’s insulting. I am a young, healthy male, fully capable of carrying a can of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles out to my car. Who do they think they’re talking to anyway? I’m not quite *that* old yet.
Hell. I’ll have you know that women all over town are begging me for my phone number…
