The telephone is the worst invention ever made – it has been used by countries to connive among and against each other, it has allowed extraterrestial beings to locate us and download our porn from their highly developed membranes, it has given rise to call centers, telemarketers, prank callers and basically anything that comprises unwanted conversations.
Today I wanted to sleep. May 28, 2007 is Memorial Day in the US, a national holiday. That means extended bed time for overworked, underpaid, boss-stressed insomniacs. But the phone wouldn’t let me.
Mom had been receiving calls from her friends. Surprisingly, at 10am, my brothers were getting calls from their friends too. (I wonder how they could be morning-people during vacation; throughout the school-year they could barely get out of bed.) It was one phone call after another; ringing like an alarm clock, sending quaint noises to my ear that filled me with madness.
It was at the tenth straight phone call that I snapped. I ground my teeth, got up, stormed the hall onto the living room, charged toward the phone, picked it up and screamed at the mouthpiece with sheer anger.
And.. what do you know, it’s a priest.
I was dumbfounded. It was like a cheap prank from heaven. “What you gonna now, Paolo? Scream at a priest?” That or the devil must be on my trail.
The phone shall live another day.
The priest asked for my mom. weird.