Hey, you! With the cell phone, with the incoming call!
Yeah, so this isn’t a theatre, fine, I’ll grant the efficiency and convenience to your callers of you being accessible via cell phone. I’ve never owned one and have no urge to get one, but I wouldn’t argue that they don’t have their place.
WHAT THE FUCK is with you pulling the thing out and holding it in the palm of your hands while it continues to beeble beeble beeble la dotti dah deedle its way through your fucking triple-annoying diarrhea-squirting ringtone TWICE before you deign to flip it open and say “Kirk here” or whatever you folks do with those damn things?
Like curved shards of broken perfume-bottle glass glitting deeper into the soles your bleeding feet as you try to hobble-hop your way to tubside, those horrid jingly-smarmy ringtones cut right into my ears and brain. ***ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE! *** Or if you feel you need to ponder the advisability of taking this call for a moment or two, SWITCH OFF THE FUCKING SOUND, there’s a switch somewhere, “vibrate mode” or some such thing, use it!
You got a finite allotment of beebles. I don’t know how many you get but it’s definitely limited, and when you let it beeble one beeble too many I’m snatching it, running down the hall screaming “BOMB!!!”, and I’m throwing it in the toilet.