The Robo-call Romance
Before I saw the light from above and took my PC to the dump and replaced it with an iMac, I often found myself in many confusing conversations concerning computer problems with nice people in India getting paid to practice their English. The conversations usually ended with the curry-flavored accent at the other end exclaiming, "Why are you yelling at me, Mr. Gustafson?"
Once, I did get into an alluring conversation with a sultry-sounding Miss Bombay about the movie and music "Monsoon Wedding." Unfortunately, it ended with click before our romance could blossom any further. Otherwise, I do not miss those geekster encounters.
Since then, I have fallen in love with the fit, the finish and the reliable function of everything Apple Computer sends out with an i in front of the name. However…however...
However, Siri has inspired robo-caller interviews from everything from healthcare, to banks, to car dealers. I usually hang up on the intruders, but yesterday I got into the wine ….I got into the wine. Did I mention, that I got into the wine?
I was in the kitchen and the quail had wandered down from the conservation area and were impatiently peering through the sliding glass door, wondering why it was taking me so long to shred some of my delicioso. artisanal bread and toss it their way. Because of my culinary efforts, my wild quail are the size of laying hens.
Please, do not tell the boys back at the Bellagio poker room that I am the St. Francis of Las Vegas. That could harm my table image.
Then sang my phone.
"This is 'The X-Bank' and this call is for David Gustafson. If you are David Gustafson please press one, say "yes" or hang up."
Her voice was unusually soothing. I pressed one and took another sip of the ice cold Riesling, ignoring the next prompt whether or not I wanted to switch to a Spanish speaking señorita. Apparently, a lot of people with Scandinavian names like to take their robo-calls in Spanish.
"Was that a "yes?"
"No" I shouted, suddenly wondering why she did not offer up a svenska flicka for my conversational amusement. "That was a not a "no!"
Outside the door, Boss Mama quail, who is the size of a Christmas turkey with breasts that would make Dolly Parton weep with envy was getting ready to break through the glass the door, jump on the table and devour my idle bread.
Her timid seraglio of lovers were peeking over her shoulder. Quail are monogamous, but Boss Mama requires the services of an all-boy harem. You can see the unquenchable fire in her eyes.
The sultry voice sang into my phone, "We want to ask you a few questions about your visit to our bank yesterday, December 17. Please press one or say "yes" if you visited our bank yesterday, December 17?"
I was staring back at Boss Mama quail and for some unknown reason, maybe it was the Riesling, I replied, "I want to kiss your strawberries."
There was a tantalizing pause.
"Was that a "yes?" Please press one or say "yes" if you visited out bank, yesterday, December 17?"
I can take a hint. Some girls like a lot of foreplay.
"Yes," I shouted. "I want to kiss your strawberries!"
"Why are you yelling at me, Mr. Gustafson?"
Once, I did get into an alluring conversation with a sultry-sounding Miss Bombay about the movie and music "Monsoon Wedding." Unfortunately, it ended with click before our romance could blossom any further. Otherwise, I do not miss those geekster encounters.
Since then, I have fallen in love with the fit, the finish and the reliable function of everything Apple Computer sends out with an i in front of the name. However…however...
However, Siri has inspired robo-caller interviews from everything from healthcare, to banks, to car dealers. I usually hang up on the intruders, but yesterday I got into the wine ….I got into the wine. Did I mention, that I got into the wine?
I was in the kitchen and the quail had wandered down from the conservation area and were impatiently peering through the sliding glass door, wondering why it was taking me so long to shred some of my delicioso. artisanal bread and toss it their way. Because of my culinary efforts, my wild quail are the size of laying hens.
Please, do not tell the boys back at the Bellagio poker room that I am the St. Francis of Las Vegas. That could harm my table image.
Then sang my phone.
"This is 'The X-Bank' and this call is for David Gustafson. If you are David Gustafson please press one, say "yes" or hang up."
Her voice was unusually soothing. I pressed one and took another sip of the ice cold Riesling, ignoring the next prompt whether or not I wanted to switch to a Spanish speaking señorita. Apparently, a lot of people with Scandinavian names like to take their robo-calls in Spanish.
"Was that a "yes?"
"No" I shouted, suddenly wondering why she did not offer up a svenska flicka for my conversational amusement. "That was a not a "no!"
Outside the door, Boss Mama quail, who is the size of a Christmas turkey with breasts that would make Dolly Parton weep with envy was getting ready to break through the glass the door, jump on the table and devour my idle bread.
Her timid seraglio of lovers were peeking over her shoulder. Quail are monogamous, but Boss Mama requires the services of an all-boy harem. You can see the unquenchable fire in her eyes.
The sultry voice sang into my phone, "We want to ask you a few questions about your visit to our bank yesterday, December 17. Please press one or say "yes" if you visited our bank yesterday, December 17?"
I was staring back at Boss Mama quail and for some unknown reason, maybe it was the Riesling, I replied, "I want to kiss your strawberries."
There was a tantalizing pause.
"Was that a "yes?" Please press one or say "yes" if you visited out bank, yesterday, December 17?"
I can take a hint. Some girls like a lot of foreplay.
"Yes," I shouted. "I want to kiss your strawberries!"
"Why are you yelling at me, Mr. Gustafson?"
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