A lot of people don't like answering machines, but when it comes to
calling patrons about books on hold I love them. (And in the case of Mrs. West,
I wish she'd get one.) It's not that talking to our patrons is any huge
chore, but I only get to talk to the patron I'm calling about 25
percent of the time. Usually I'll get a spouse, or a teenager, or, worst
of all, a toddler. I then either have to negotiate with them to speak
to the patron, or I have to leave a message with them and hope they actually
deliver it. Sure, I make notations on the hold slip as to who exactly I
left the message with, should the patron not get the message and leave
me needing someone to blame, but I find answering machines save me the
most amount of potential hassle.
Usually.
One night, I got an answering machine that didn't play
a traditional outgoing message. Instead, it began playing some sort of
funky pre-recorded Casio keyboard music which, after several
measures, was accompanied by the slightly off key voice of the patron
herself. I wish to God I'd called her back and transcribed the lyrics,
but they really weren't remarkable as far as answering machine song
lyrics go. It was the standard We're not home right now and in a moment you'll hear a beep and you know what to do then
sort of thing, only somewhat more creatively written than that. It was
clear that this woman had gone to some degree of effort to pull off what
she no doubt hoped would be cute and cheerful and day-brightening, but
which in the end was just painfully cheesy. I almost felt embarrassed on
her behalf at having to listen to it. Like she was going to suddenly
pop on the line and ask my opinion of it and I'd have to slam down the
phone and run hide behind the Hobbit door under our staircase.
What's worse, though, is that when the beep beeped and
it was time for me to leave a message, I had the greatest difficulty
saying "We have that Willa Cather book you wanted" without completely
cracking up laughing. I should have done it in song.
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