Call Me. No, Actually: A Defense of The Long-Lost Art of The Phone Call
A Defense of The Long-Lost Art of The Phone Call
They’ve hung on hooks for decades, and yet we treat real phones like hook-ups from that party two Fridays ago. Like we wish they’d disappear. Or at the very least, never pop up in our lives again. A sudden phone call from Grandma on a bright Tuesday morning seems to cause the same reaction as running into an ex at the grocery store: exhaling, muttering “Oh God,” and wanting to crawl under something.
Thing is, phones haven’t disappeared. I know perfectly well that I’ll spend 50 dollars and a few hours at Verizon next month upgrading my “phone,” although I sometimes question whether I should still call it that. Granted, it’s easier than ever to avoid these old rituals known as “phone calls.” I’m pretty sure I’ve spent more money on documentaries about prisons than on phone minutes in the past month, which looks ever so slightly concerning now that I’ve typed it out. There’s also this glorious thing called “the internet,” which cuts down the situations necessitating calling people (and dancing pathetically to the on-hold music) even more. Fun fact- you can get a divorce online now, apparently without a spouses’s signature!
And yet, I guess phone calls are somewhat like roller coaster collapses. The fact that the can be avoided 99% of the time is really not all that comforting to some people. We’ll all have to make a phone call someday. It might be it for a phone interview or to order Chinese takeout (Number 13 with tofu, an extra bag of hot saucy, and a pickup line on the receipt. ) Perhaps you’ll need to talk to that odd childhood friend who knows that you used to wear Wonder Woman Underoos and is thus not to be trusted, or simply to tell grandma that yes, the weather has been fine and that you’d love to hear about whom you should really marry.
And, I’d venture that this really isn’t all that bad. Granted, as someone who had to communicate solely through phone calls for almost a year, I’m a bit biased . But something about them is wonderfully comforting, or at least incredibly practical. And yet, for some reason, people are awfully petrified of phone calls. I’d like to make the argument that, despite all the wonders of current technology, it remains impossible to slap someone through a phone line. They also render it impossible to spend three hours planning and sending a viciously passive-aggressive text message. On a final note, as someone who still tries to convince her babushka that she’s a “good girl,” it really would be nice to not receive texts with such frequency that I wonder if I accidentally bought a vibrator at Verizon. So, consider this a meek defense of the long-lost art of the phone call.
No! Don’t run away from me! I know you don’t suddenly “Have to go…’wash your cat’ or ‘use the nearest identity-supporting restroom’ or ‘meet an nonspecific business partner to talk about a thing.” No one pulls off that excuse, and nowadays you can’t even mutter “Bitcoin” and skedaddle. Go read that motivational quote on Pinterest. Take a deep breath. Put on the coffee pot. Crack your knuckles- it doesn’t cause arthritis.
Phone calls. You got this.
Phone calls have something difficult about them.
For starters, they have an odd way of giving you the “Everyone’s looking at me” feeling, even though most of the time, we have the privacy of our own home or office. Maybe our cat is watching. It’s okay. Mr. Whiskers won’t judge. This brings us to unsolicited advice in rant form.
Don’t underestimate how much it can help to “Look the Part.” Feel like everyone’s looking at you? Give them something to stare at. Put on your suit and tie for that phone interview. Do your makeup. Calling your far-away boyfriend? Put on the Pretty Bra. Or snuggle into his sweatshirt. Dress for the conversation you want to have- look good, sound good, right? There are few things more empowering than holding meetings wearing a blazer and pajama shorts with penguins on them.
You’re going to dial now. Finger trembling with Phone call-onset Parkinson’s? It’ll be okay. But wait, before you press “call”..
A phone call can feel like an intrusion. Something about knowing that you’re about to startle someone and make them cringe at their snazzy ringtone is guilt-inducing. This may be a tad inevitable, but you don’t have to adopt the tone of someone apologizing for running over their favourite cat.
Achooo!
Sorry, got a Kleenex? Thing is, emotions, like colds, are contagious. Whenever I answer my phone, no matter how zippy I’m feeling, the voice on the other line sounds so convinced that they’re annoying me that I’m nearly tempted to give into it. “How dare you interrupt my Queen songs! I’m so busy! I was about to go shower two hours ago!” If we’re all hip enough to avoid vaccines and spread contagious diseases, maybe we we could venture into the business of spreading a little positivity? There really is nothing like hearing someone smiling over the phone.
Infinity is infinite. That was a meaningless statement. And so are all these mind-numbing pleasantries. Girls aren’t supposed to admit that size matters, but no-one could possibly actually like smalltalk, right? And yet, like with Snuggies, we can capitalize on this. Promised someone a ten-minute call? Just follow the formula we default to anyhow: Spend five minutes having a conversation to know whether the receiver is available to have a conversation, and follow that with a competition to see who can find the most synonyms for “How are you?” and “Good.” This is one of those things that makes phone calls as fun as getting our teeth cleaned.
Unless, of course, the call actually has a point, and you’re really trying to finish it in the time before you can hit “skip” on the Youtube ad. In that case, think of pleasantries like drinks in front of your in-laws. One is usually a good limit.
Uhhh...
Oh god, it’s here. The pause. Both parties hanging on in awkward anticipation, usually after a particularly insightful “Oh…” or “That’s nice.” These phone calls we love to hate on tend to be sprinkled with these awkward agonies that leave an unpleasant aftertaste and make us want to hang up the phone and vow to never call anyone ever again.
As a wise, qualified person (obviously,) I can offer a solution that I apply universally. Take a deep breath and announce that you have a VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION. Take a second for a dramatic pause, and then calmly pose:
“If humans are 75% water and Jesus can walk on water, then if I walk on a human, am I 75% Jesus?”
Per my calculations: dissolves awkward pauses a good 79% of the time. If you’ve got a better method, call me and let me know.
In a final defense of my beloved phone call, I’d like to remind you how practical they are - you can communicate AND have two free hands! You can sort your laundry! Organize some papers! Wrestle with a fitted sheet- some magic fairy told me there ACTUALLY exists a way to fold them! Call while you’re driving somewhere, (when you’re not too busy dancing to Taylor Swift songs.) Plus, you get sorted laundry and a happy phone-called grandma. Win-Win!
Okay. We’re almost done now. The goal conversation of the phone call has been transacted. I’m so proud of you. One task remains - hanging up somehow, without ending up volunteering at a quilting bee an hour and a half away at 8 AM next Saturday. Don’t know about you, but this always seems to happen. And this is where I understand the appeal of text messages - they grant you the time to come up with an excuse to get out of those plans that fulfill the “We-Really-Should-Meet-Up-Sometime” requirement of most conversations.
Well-Caffeinated humans may be logical beings, and yet somehow, heroically making strangely-enthusiastic plans after which both parties will spend the following week thinking of a good reason to cancel feels perfectly logical. No-one is THAT excited about “getting coffee sometime,” and no-one’s cat dies three times in 6 months. If you want to do something to reach beyond the phone call, consider that you’ll both gain significantly more net happiness from something less heroic than a blown-off quilting class. Shock the living daylights out of them by sending an actual letter (maybe you’ll actually open that stationery set someone gave you for some special occasion 3 years ago!) or maybe, just maybe, threaten to call again.
Now, hang up.
No, YOU hang up!
I’ve got a quilting bee to go to.
