Mindless Chit Chat

Conversations on the phone have become an anathema to me, a fact that my father will probably greet with some glee if only he knew since I spent inordinate amounts of my adolescent years miraculously surgically attached to the telephone - thereby raising the phone bills to astronomical limits that oddly enough matched my father's blood pressure when he saw the total.

I blame it on the hospital. Seriously. Pointless chit-chat over the phone is discouraged obviously since time is usually at a premium ( gossiping is not encouraged as well but there's nothing much anyone can do about it ) so most of us at work end up talking in something akin to morse code, presenting only the salient, indispensable points in monotonous grunts - which actually turns progressively Neanderthal brute-like as the hours grow long.

This actually leads to the point I'm making. I have wonderfully thoughtful guys who call me only to receive curt, dismissive monosyllables worthy of the uncivilized ape-man mentioned above - due to no fault of their own. This is the long-awaited apology you all have been waiting for. Although in my defence, I have to say that years at work have sapped me of any sort of gracious telephone etiquette. Unfortunately in the middle of the night, polite conversation is shoved unceremoniously to the wayside as I bark orders over the telephone and this reprehensible behaviour is obviously carried forward to the next day.

The sudden epiphany came to me today when I received a call from Big Bicep Barry from work. Not only was I somewhat abrupt during the conversation ( since I was only half-conscious from my 24 on-call ), I probably sounded like the far-from- charming Neanderthal mentioned above.

Barry : Hello, Paul?
Paul : Yeah.
Barry : Hey, this is Barry. You free?
Paul : Ugh.
( Of course I know it's him! The name's on the bloody cell! )
Barry : How was work last night?
Paul : Gah.
( Bad. Dammit! I felt like throwing the irritating relative off the third floor! Would that be wrong? )
Barry : About the movie... you're okay to talk?
Paul : Yeah.

Monstrous, I know. And somewhat oblivious to it all, he seems to imbue the conversation with such ebullient joie de vivre that I find it so hard to slam it down - despite the fact that I can feel myself slowly morphing into the barbaric phone monster. Obviously munching the occasional alfalfa sprout induces the feel-good enzymes in Barry ( helps perk up those pecs though ).

The question everyone seems to ask - and that includes the handful of doomsayer friends such as Eye Eddie & Jumping Jack who are privy to the details of this tremendously odd relationship and are predicting dire consequences such as endless heartbreak and suffering for me - is where we're heading with this. Simply put, I have no fucking idea and surprisingly - despite the fact that I have improbable fantasies of throwing Barry down on my couch and ripping his deliciously tight shirts apart to bare his rippling pecs - I am quite content to let it remain as it is. Movies and dinners. Hell, I might pride myself on my independence but that doesn't mean I particularly enjoy watching movies alone ( although I have done it dozens of times before and probably will do so again! ). I'm no sadist :)

That said however, the alpha dog Neanderthal side of me doesn't know how long to passively wait before taking that next leap.