Stop callin, stop callin, I don't wanna think anymore.
Bet that's what certain harried girls in the human resource department are chanting right now. Surely it must feel like Grand Central Station over there.
Not that I care. Since I'm the one constantly placing their number on the ever-irritating redial just to get a rise from them. Surprisingly enough the annoying shrill ring doesn't seem to bother them, at least not enough for them to get off their tushies to pick up.
Even if the number doesn't belong to them.
Boy, the way you blowing up my phone
Won't make me leave no faster
According to Charming Calvin, that seems to be accepted corporate cubicle culture. Absorbed into their generic box-like niche in the office floor, each mindless worker drone falls into a world of their own devoid of stimulus from the chaotic outside. Far be it for them to even deign to listen to the annoying ringtone from the cubicle next door.
Paul : Man, I've tried ringing a dozen times. Maybe she's dead.
Calvin : So have I. That's why you're helping me try.
Paul : Why aren't her colleagues helping her pick up the phone?
Calvin : No one ever does that.
Paul : Seriously?
Calvin : Never.
Paul : So your job offer came from a girl in human resource who hasn't picked up her phone in three days.
Calvin : Yes.
Paul : Someone must have shot her to stop you from taking the lucrative job offer.
Calvin : Possibly.
Speaking for myself, I simply hate phones ringing nonstop so I feel absolutely compelled to pick it up - no matter where I am regardless of who the bloody aggravating phone belongs to.
|Bloody hell, did I get your farking answering machine again!?|
Perhaps it's fortuitous that she doesn't seem to be around. After multiple frustrating attempts at trying to reach her, I just might make her cry the moment she picks up.