Please Leave a Message

I took the telephone answering machine out of its box and set it on the table. I read through the entire operating manual and made sure I knew how it worked before I tried recording my first outgoing message.

“Hello this is Ed Wolf and you’ve reached me when . . .” I stopped and hit rewind.

Too long. Too wordy.

“Hello this is Ed Wolf and I can’t come to the phone right now because. . .”

I stopped and hit rewind. I don’t need reasons why I’m not picking up.

“Hello this is Ed Wolf . . .” and stopped.

Do I really need my last name? Do I need to say my name at all? Do I need to say my phone number? Do I need to ask them to leave theirs?

I called a couple friends who already had answering machines and listened. One talked way too fast. The other wanted me to leave my number, even if I thought they had it.

“Hello, this is Ed . . .” Not loud enough.

“Hello, this is Ed and I can’t come to . . .” Too whiney.

I stopped trying.

I didn’t even want an answering machine, but now that I was a Shanti volunteer and had people with AIDS relying on me, I felt I had to have one.

“Hello, this is Ed and I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now but . . .” Ugh!

Too much!

Bob had called me from New York City to say Russ had been ill for quite a while and they’d finally gotten him to agree to go to St. Vincent’s and two days later they told him he had something called GRID and Bob had called me repeatedly and couldn’t reach me and when he finally did get through told me to get an answering machine, everyone in Manhattan had one, and it made staying in touch so much easier.

“Hello, this is . . .”

No.

“Hi! This is Ed and . . .”

Too perky.

I said “Hi” out loud several times.

“Hi! Hi! Hi!”

Then, “Hello.”

“Hello?” Hello?” Hello?”

I went with “Hi!” It sounded more friendly.

“Hi, this is Ed.” “Hi this is Edward.” “Hi, this is Ed.” “Hi, this is Edward.”

Maybe just Ed.

If I had an answering machine I’d not only get messages from people who called when I wasn’t home, but also listen, when I WAS home, to whoever was leaving the message, and then pick up if I wanted to talk to them.

That could be a plus.

Though I’d gone over to see Linda who already had a machine, and while I was there her phone rang.

She got up and stood in the hallway, listening.

I could hear her mother saying, “Linda, this is your mother. I know you’re there. Are you really not going to pick up? That’s rude.”

“Hi! This is Ed. Sorry I missed you. Please leave a message.”

That’s what I finally came up with after 14 tries.

Later that night Bob called again and when I picked up he was crying. He said Russ almost died earlier that day and if I wanted to see him one last time I better get back to New York as soon as possible. I told him I’d see what I could do.

I tossed and turned all night and in the morning decided I couldn’t go. I didn’t have the money to fly to New York and couldn’t get the time off, plus I knew Russ wouldn’t want to say goodbye, wouldn’t want me to see him lying in a hospital bed. I knew Bob would get upset and try to change my mind, but when I called to say I wasn’t coming, I was so relieved, because I got his answering machine instead.