I get anxious every time my phone rings. I know it can’t be something good, writes Cape {town} Etc’s Murray Swart.
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These days, friends and family use WhatsApp. Business correspondence and bill collection happen via email. Social media is for chatting with distant acquaintances and random strangers who are only too happy to give their two cents worth, whether you like it or not.
Nobody actually calls anymore so when the phone rings… an injury, an irritation or ‘an important consumer announcement’ is waiting for you on the other end.
It wasn’t always like this, though. Once upon a time, hearing the phone ring was cause for excitement.
You didn’t know who was phoning, why they were calling or who they were looking for. They might want to speak to you and if not, you still wanted to get there first to hear who it was.
As a child, we had a budgie named Peter and he was quite chatty. He spent his days checking himself out in the mirror, banging his head against his bell and chirping away.
He could talk and while he didn’t have much to say, he tended to say it a lot. ‘Hello Peter. Pretty boy,’ he would proclaim repeatedly, ogling himself in his mirror.
He seldom shut up but talking and chirping were not the only sounds coming from that cage.
Peter spent his days in the same room as the telephone and soon learned to mimic the telephone perfectly.
I would hear the phone ringing and rush down the passage to answer, only to find that budgie stroking his own ego. Nobody was on the line.
Eventually, Peter made me doubt that there was a caller after many races down the passage, only to be met by a dial tone and disappointment.
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Then, one day, the phone stopped ringing. Peter died. We had a funeral for him in the garden and made a tombstone out of ice cream sticks.
It was a beautiful ceremony. Our house was quiet after that.
It was around this time that cell phones came to South Africa. The phone really did stop ringing.
Peter would have hated it. He was smart for a budgie but that Nokia ringtone is quite a complex tune. Besides, you can’t teach an old bird new tricks.
Later, talking made way for typing as the chosen form of communication. The world got smaller, speeding up significantly. Authenticity was replaced by automation. Direct messaging replaced dialling.
Gone are the days when a phone call was a pleasant surprise or a blast from the past. When the phone rings, I know it’s not going to be a relative calling for a good old chat. If it were, it probably wouldn’t be an unknown number.
It’s also definitely not going to be Peter messing with me while marvelling at his own magnificence.
It will be a recorded message, saying the same thing over and over again, telling me that their announcement is important or that I’ve been selected for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
On occasion, it might actually be a real person wanting to know how I am, a question that inevitably results in a lie.
Once this protocol has been observed, the caller will make me an unbeatable offer. ‘No thank you,’ I will say. ‘I’m happy with my cell phone contract, my insurance and my medical aid. I don’t need a funeral policy and I’m definitely not voting for your party.’
Please leave me alone. Where did you get this number anyway?
Truth be told, I indirectly gave them my number. I clicked yes or agree at some point without reading the T&Cs.
My data, including ‘this number’ was collected from me, catalogued ‘for an improved user experience’ and sold off for direct marketing purposes.
I didn’t read the small print. You didn’t either. Nobody did. That’s why they keep calling.
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I miss Peter and if he were around today, he wouldn’t be mimicking the phone. He would sit in his cage, greeting himself on rotation, reminding the bird in the mirror that he’s a ‘pretty boy’.
If he was still around, I would have put the phone on speaker for every call. He would have enjoyed those important announcements and people asking him how he was.
Maybe it’s time I get a new bird and train him to say things like, ‘Yes, I’m very interested’.
‘Tell me more about this wonderful offer’ and ‘How do I claim my prize?’
It may not end the calls but it would be a constant source of amusement.
Fortunately, there is an easier way to address the issue and my anxiety.
By registering on the Direct Marketing Association’s (DMA) National OPT OUT Database you will not be contacted by members of the DMA. Your phone will only ring when something bad happens. How awesome is that?
Peter would have loved the peace and quiet.
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Picture: Starryai / Murray Swart
