With Mr Ringame may I speak?
To work he’s just now gone:
try and catch him there, my dear.
Good luck! Tara! So long!
How may I help you?
Please put me through to Mr Ringame.
Who shall I say’s calling?
His doctor wants to speak to him.
(and soon this very morning!)
The line is busy at the moment.
Would you like to hold?
(But while you wait for years and years
here’s music for you which, we’re told,
will soothe your nerves, calm your fears,
and make you feel consoled.)
Mr Ringame’s office. Can I help?
Is Mr Ringame there?
Not at his desk right now, he can’t
have gone too far, I swear.
But oh! his secretary says
“he’s meeting with a millionaire
at our Head Office. Here’s the switchboard number. Don’t despair!”
The Telephonic Company’s
devised a cunning plan
(while raising revenues sky-high)
to keep up his attention span:
He dials, and great is his dismay
to find he has a choice -
press a button, he is told,
listening to this voice:
‘Press one to pay your bill,
press two if you have paid it,
press three for a new service,
press four to upgrade it,
press five to register complaints,
press six that’s marketing and sales,
press seven if you’ve a nasty fault,
press eight for technical details,
press nine to hear that lot again,
or for a representative...’
(by now he’s reeling from the pain
and feeling argumentative)
'...You’re being held in a queue
We’d like you very much to know
your call’s important to us. Please hold.'
He loses patience! And so finally he rings the mobile -
that diverts, of course: it’s out of reach ,
it’s been switched off, it’s busy or it’s just a screech...
'The number you have dialled has not been recognized... Please try again...
This phone may be switched off... Please try later... This call is being diverted... Please hold while we try to connect you...'
So MrRingame’s unaware he has a baby boy
the doctor’s tried to no avail to bring him news of joy.
he’ll leave a little voice mail or catch him later on
Finally he gives up. The conclusion is foregone...
A telephone exchange: that’s life!
Condemned to an eternal game
of reaching others on this earth,
we must pulsate with constant mirth
for failing to connect since birth.
Phoning up is such great fun
when all is left unsaid, undone!
Please speak after the tone!
Text by Edward Lambert