It’s past lunch time and the kids are desperate and exhausted. I’m disorganised… again.
LL is screaming around the house with his train, hysterical with hunger. I have strapped Blossom into her chair after three near-head-on collisions with said screaming train. I have vegemite from one end of the kitchen to the other and I have just dropped the cheese.
The phone rings and somewhere in my desperate mind, I hope it is Mr D calling to offer some calming words of encouragement, or my mother ringing to tell me that she is out front and ready to take the mad toddler away for a moment, or my publisher calling to say they have sold the movie rights to my book for multiples of millions of dollars and that I can afford to have a full-time nanny to scrape the cheese from between the floorboards…
Me: Hello?
Them: …
Me: Hello?
Them: … click-brrr…
Me: (clearly not thinking straight, because if I was I would have hung up by now) HELLO?!
Them: Oh hello. Am I speaking with, uh, Mr Dewbury?
Me: (Do I sound like a Mr to you?) No.
Them: Oh alright, is this 49-bla-bla-bla?
Me: (You dialled the number, dipshit) Yes.
Them: Oh alright then. Am I speaking with the owner of the house?
Me: (Say no, say no, say no) Yes.
Them: Oh alright. And I take it you are working part time?
Me: (What the? You take it?) No.
Them: Oh alright. Well this is not a sales call. I am just calling you for giving you some informations, so this is not a sales call so ok do you work part time?
Me: (Not a sales call my arse. Did I not just answer this question?) No, I work all the time but I don’t get paid for what I do.
Them: Oh ok, um, excuse me?
Me: (Oh go away) LL leave your sister alone! No, take the train off her head NOW! As you can hear I have small children and I do not get paid to look after them and I am not interested in whatever you are offering.
Them: Oh alright. So your husband works then?
Me: (And what if I didn’t have a husband? What if he just died or if I was a lesbian? What would you say then?) Yes and I’m still not interested, thank you.
Them: Oh alright, so does he earn more than $70,000 a year? Just an idea of course I am not needing to know exactly just an idea…
Me: (Fuck off!) That’s none of your business, my children are screaming for lunch, I have vegemite from here to eternity and I am not interested in what you have to sell me, thank you very much, good bye.
Them: Oh madam this is not a sales call it is only information…
Me: (Madam?) *beep…beep…beep…*.
Why do they always push me over the edge?
Later I fantasise about the conversation I would love to have with a telemarketer…
Me: Hello?
Them: …
Me: Hello hello? Earth calling telemarketer? Come in!
Them: Oh hello. Am I speaking with, uh, Mr Dewbury?
Me: Yes! Well, anatomically I am still Mr, but I am well on the way to a complete physical transformation, so you can call me Ms Dewberry if you like. That would make me happy.
Them: Oh alright, so this is Mrs Dewberry?
Me: No, darling, that would be my mother, God rest her soul. No, I am in the process of a gernder re-assignment, so I guess you could say I am Mr on the outside but Ms on the inside and working on bringing my inner goddess out.
Them: Oh alright then. So, Mr Dewberry? Are you the owner of the house?
Me: Well, we are really all Stewards, aren’t we? I mean anything that I have is not really my own in that it is all given by God into our care for the short period that we walk this earth, so in that sense I am not so much the owner as the minder of this home.
Them: Oh alright. So you are renting?
Me: No no. God doesn’t ask payment.
Them: So you are the owner?
Me: If you say so.
Them: And I take it you are working part time?
Me: If you love what you do, you are never working.
Them: Oh alright. So your husband… er wife… er is working then?
Me: We live off the land. My husband-to-be is actually out back lopping the head off one of our chickens as we speak. I will harvest some potatoes and rosemary for the roast, right after I finish plucking the poor dear. Bless it’s soul. Amen.
Them: Oh alright, so does he earn more than $70,000 a year? Just an idea of course I am not needing to know exactly just an idea…
Me: It’s a she and I’m not sure where a chicken would get that kind of money. What would a chicken do with money in any case? You do ask some strange questions…
Them: Oh alright… um… excuse me?
Me: Chickens. You asked if the chicken earned 70 grand a year? Doing what, exactly? Not laying, that’s for sure – in fact, that’s why we decided to eat her; got to lay your way in this family, so to speak…
Them: *Click-Beep…beep…beep…*
Me: Hello? Hello? That’ll learn ya.
One day I’ll have the presence of mind. One day…
What's 'normal' anyway? 