Today, I got a glimpse of what torture might feel like. Intending only to share the joys of virtual author visits with a new customer, I dialed the numbers almost excitedly. A friendly voice answered and, with perfect receptionist phone etiquette, offered to transfer me to the requested party.
[Cue: hold music]
As I settled into my chair, ready for a wait, an unfamiliar and unpleasant sensation began nibbling at my eardrums. Rather than the usual Mozart quartet or quiet beeping that one expects to hear when put on hold, a digitalized clavichord version of Fur Elise pipes up sounding as if it's been forced through the phone lines through rusty, hollowed-out sound tubes. As if it's not offensive enough that they chose to butcher a song sentimentally tied to my childhood, they then play only five measures of the theme on repeat. WHY?!?!?
A simile: this hold music is like zombies--a beautiful piece, strangled by an arranger's dreams of originality then brought back to the living world. Its image now in tatters, all fluidity lost to a cold heart and blood-starved muscles. Yet despite the awkward restrictions of its movements, somehow, it comes after you. Nipping at your heals--
"Hello. Ann speaking."
Thanks the daisies. Someone come to rescue me from this nightmare--
Wait, what? Ann? I didn't ask for Ann... "Yes, Hi. Can I please speak with David?"
"David's unavailable right now. Just one moment while I transfer you to his voicemail."
[Cue: panic]
Oh man, the nightmare's creeping back. Is it worth it? I mean, everyone knows that voicemails don't guarantee a call back. Can I stand it? But if I don't, I'll have to try again later and be subjected to this torture all over again!
Just as I think I've lost it, the machine picks up. Distracted into fits of stuttering, my brain scrambled into disjointed thoughts, the message doesn't start out so well.....
"Hi, uuuh, David, this is Alyssa from....(insert company name). I'm calling regarding the, uuuhhhh......" I won't deny that I patted myself on the back for what turned out to be a graceful recovery to a disastrous beginning. I hung up with relief, knowing that the zombies have been put away for at least a little while.
Needless to say, this experience has led me to pay undue attention to hold music during all subsequent calls. My conclusion is simple: this particular phone set-up was done so by evil villains. This music is supposed to assure you that the connection wasn't lost mid-transfer. That the digital messenger is still en route with your invitation to chat and hasn't been detained on the way. This music is supposed to make you feel relaxed while numbing your mind to the potentially long wait ahead. This music isn't supposed to traumatize you into never calling a general line again. If I were ever under real torture, I suspect it might be cave city for this weakling.
A simile: this hold music is like zombies--a beautiful piece, strangled by an arranger's dreams of originality then brought back to the living world. Its image now in tatters, all fluidity lost to a cold heart and blood-starved muscles. Yet despite the awkward restrictions of its movements, somehow, it comes after you. Nipping at your heals--
"Hello. Ann speaking."
Thanks the daisies. Someone come to rescue me from this nightmare--
Wait, what? Ann? I didn't ask for Ann... "Yes, Hi. Can I please speak with David?"
"David's unavailable right now. Just one moment while I transfer you to his voicemail."
[Cue: panic]
Oh man, the nightmare's creeping back. Is it worth it? I mean, everyone knows that voicemails don't guarantee a call back. Can I stand it? But if I don't, I'll have to try again later and be subjected to this torture all over again!
Just as I think I've lost it, the machine picks up. Distracted into fits of stuttering, my brain scrambled into disjointed thoughts, the message doesn't start out so well.....
"Hi, uuuh, David, this is Alyssa from....(insert company name). I'm calling regarding the, uuuhhhh......" I won't deny that I patted myself on the back for what turned out to be a graceful recovery to a disastrous beginning. I hung up with relief, knowing that the zombies have been put away for at least a little while.
Needless to say, this experience has led me to pay undue attention to hold music during all subsequent calls. My conclusion is simple: this particular phone set-up was done so by evil villains. This music is supposed to assure you that the connection wasn't lost mid-transfer. That the digital messenger is still en route with your invitation to chat and hasn't been detained on the way. This music is supposed to make you feel relaxed while numbing your mind to the potentially long wait ahead. This music isn't supposed to traumatize you into never calling a general line again. If I were ever under real torture, I suspect it might be cave city for this weakling.
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