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May 24, 2003

I'm Not Your Personal Answering Machine

Last night, I had the entire room to myself: Chelsea's gone home for the long weekend, Alina decided to spend the entire evening shooting for the moon with Abelardo, and Jennifer did us all a favor by packing up her stuff and sleeping over someone else's place. There aren't too many nights when all three of the roomates are all out doing their own thing, and since I've spent more weekends at home than on campus this month, I figured it would do me some good to stick it out in the dorms for a few nights. I was hoping to get a few things started on my astronomy project (procrastination won over again), and maybe even decent night's sleep. All in all , it was going to be the perfect evening--the only thing that would have made it better would be having Tom Cruise drop by for a late night make-out session.

Unfortunately, all of those plans were dashed, as I spent more than a good portion of the night answering Jennifer's phone calls. Riing... Riiinng... Riiiiinnng all night long. I was this close to disconnecting the damn phone line.

Now I'm usually a really good sport when it comes to the telephone. You can count on me to answer by around the second ring (make that the third ring if I'm in the bathroom), and I always make a point to leave all verbatim messages on our dry erase board. I'm careful not to spend too much on our phone than necessary, and always switch over for call waiting (something Chelsea forgets to do). I'm telling you, I've got great phone etiquette.

But even the Queen of Phone Etiquette gets her buttons pushed sometimes.

It started out innocently enough: Around five o' clock, there were a few calls from the same guy (I think). Being the polite person that I am, and told him she was out, asking him to "...try again later." However, after about eight or nine more calls calls at twenty minute intervals, I was starting to get fed up. I think I was starting to lose it around nine o'clock, because my generally pleasant telephone voice had transformed into a bitter sneer.

"Hello?" I snapped after ripping the earpiece from its cradle.

"Um... Hi. Is Jennifer there?" His voice was faint against the sound of mingling background voices on the other end.

"Listen," I murmured, not wanting to waste anymore time. "Jennifer's not here. In fact, she's hardly ever here, so I don't have a clue where she is. Where the heck are you calling from?"

"Uh... Montana?" The way he said it, I wasn't sure if he was screwing around, or just plain afraid of my voice. Either way, it only made me more upset.

"Well, like I said, she isn't here. She probably won't be here until around three in the morning, so I wouldn't bother calling back for awhile, okay?"

"Uhhh.. Yeah. Okay. Thanks." There was a tiny little chuckle on his part, and then the line was dead.

I felt a little guilty last night about yelling at the poor guy--after all, how was he supposed to know that Jennifer is a freaking vampire who only sleeps while everyone else is awake? It didn't give me the right to bitch in his ear. I went to bed feeling mad at myself for snapping at a total stranger who was stranded in Montana.

Of course, I stopped feeling guilty when Jennifer stormed into the bedroom last night at close to three in the morning (told you so), waking me up from a wonderfully deep sleep. As I lay in bed, I cringed at every twist and crinkle of plastic bags, the grinding and sliding of dresser drawers, and the hard stomping and plodding of her chunky heeled shoes. There is no need to feel sorry for anyone who bothers to wake you up at ungodly hours of the night; I realize that now. I should've totally torn that Montana guy to pieces.

So when the phone rang about an hour ago, I was fully prepared:

"Hello?"

"Hi! Is Jennifer there?"

I smiled to myself, feeling wonderfully evil. "No, she moved out. Bye."

posted at 12:17 p.m.

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