An Open Letter to My Customers (and Their Associates)

Dear People I Have to Call Every Fucking Day, Their Family Members, and the Other People who Pick Up the Goddamn Phone,

Hi. I'm the polite little automaton that calls you and leaves a message every day on your answering machine, or voicemail, or with a co-worker. Or with your son, or daughter, or that old man who lives in your house but isn't related to you and has arthritis and loves to talk about it. Or sometimes, even with you.

Now, I'm not angry at you or anything. Let's get that straight. I'm just doing my job. But you've picked up these little habits that, y'know, get on my nerves. They grind at me. They itch.

They enrage me beyond rational discourse.

Hahahah. Hahah. Ha. Ha.

Ah, but there's hope. You, too, can be among the hallowed throng that don't make me want to commit base and foul murder on a regular (in fact, daily!) basis. You, too, can save your immortal soul from wherever I drag it when my rage punches a hole in the fabric of reality and opens a portal to whatever lurks on the other side of Hell -

Excuse me.

Here's a list of pieces of advice that you will tattoo on your heart:

1. Answer your goddamn phone. Even if you are asleep, or eating - if you owe a goddamn car payment, you will answer your phone, or I will send a bailiff to your door, who will terrify you, take your car, and then send you the bill.
   
2. If you're not around your phone that often, buy a fucking answering machine. They cost twenty bucks. You don't even have to record a message. There are automated messages. You don't even have to fucking do anything, just plug it in. Just as long as it will record my voice, telling you that you owe me money. And if I have to sit there, listening to your phone ring, every day, I will put you in time out. And, unlike when you were four, it will cost you thousands of dollars.
   
3. If you do record a message, so help me God you will make it short, sweet, and to the point. You will not include an anecdote, or some stupid fucking joke. You will not make it witty or personable, because you will fail. You will absolutely not sing a song. Let me tell you something that you might not know: clever answering machine messages are never fucking clever. They are annoying, they are boring, and they make me angry, which is not good for you. It is, in fact, very bad for you. Because when I am angry, I'm less likely to give a fuck about the fact that you don't have a job, or that your damn parakeet just died. In fact, I'm much more likely to take your cat, strip it for parts at a body shop, and then send them back to you in the mail, one by one. And no. I didn't just misspell "car".
   
4. Even if your message is short and to the point, you will make sure that you are speaking a language into the damn microphone. And I don't mean that you can't speak in a language that isn't English, or with an accent. That's cool with me, man, I like accents. But you will fucking enunciate. You will speak so that other human beings can actually understand what you are saying, and not just infer or intimate a communicated thought. I don't want to hear you mumble, or the sound of a strangled alien. I'd rather not hear the voice of Cthulhu rising from sunken R'lyeh every time I call you. And Lorne, the man I call every week, you douchebag. Lorne, you need to sober the fuck up.
   
5. Why is your baby always crying in the background of your answering machine message? Record it while they are asleep. They take naps.
   
6. Check. Your. Fucking. Messages. When you're done listening, delete them. If your voicemail or whatever is full for more than a day, all that indicates to me is that you're avoiding my messages, and see above about making me angry, and the things I do to pets.
   
7. If you do get on the phone with me, goddamn your eyes, you will wake the fuck up, and stop pretending that you're sick. I've been here all goddamn day. You're not buying sympathy by pretending you have a sore throat. My throat is sore all the time. From yelling at you.
8. Never assume that you get to tell me what to do. That's not the case. You're the delinquent, motherfucker. You're the one about to lose their car, and their credit. Beyond the fact that, generally, you're wrong about whatever you think is supposed to have happened, I have people to back me up, and the fact that I didn't miss a goddamn car payment. At the Job, the customer is almost never right.
9. Don't lie to me about your car. I'll find out. It's my job. And when I do, you will be sorry. I promise.
10. Make your goddamn car payments right fucking now.

If you follow those easy steps, I guarantee that I probably won't come to your house and torture you with a battery and some gasoline.

Love and kisses,

Crawl In A Hole And Die