The first time you said, “I’m sorry I missed your call,” it was easy to believe you. You are a top executive, and I cannot expect to be able to barge into your life unannounced.
The second time I still held hope for our relationship, and made excuses for you. “Maybe he’s in a meeting, or the bathroom, or getting a cup of coffee. I’ll try again later.”
My calls continued, each more desparate, but I would not leave a message. I don’t want to talk to a machine, dammit! I want to talk to YOU, but you are a liar and an unfeeling cad, you bastard!
I’m shuttled into your voicemail faster than my name would come up on your Caller ID, so I must assume I’m not the only person you are playing like this. How many hearts are you breaking with your callous games? How many souls have you dragged through the dirt, only to cast them aside like soiled gloves when you are done?
Today was the last straw. Your automated system said it would put me right through, but instead I heard “Taking Care of Business” play three times before I pressed the “*” key and spoke to that whore at your switchboard. I explained my plight and my need to speak you. She sympathized—I suppose you’ve played her, too—and said, “Oh, you’d be better off talking to our CFO. Here, I’ll transfer you.” Except his voicemail also said, “I’m sorry I missed your call,” and I’m not going through that again.
I’m through with both of you because I now have the extension of your IT Director, and I hear he knows how to treat a telemarketer.