Call Bill
Thursday, December 6, 2007 at 00:00
By Marcel Strigberger
Three things in life annoy me: snow plows blocking my driveway with avalanches of snow, vinegar on French fries, and people calling my office and failing to leave an adequate message.
As snow is seasonal and more health-conscious folks desist from eating French fries, this leaves the message problem as the most pressing issue that torments me. A day at my office would simply not be complete without some of the following incidents occurring.
I get back from lunch and I ask my secretary whether there have been any calls. She hands me the message slips and invariably one of them reads: “Call Bill.” No surname.
Presumably Bill feels that his name is such a rarity that I'll just look at the slip and exuberantly say: "Of course, Bill." No doubt Bill believes that his name is not as commonplace as say, Adelbert or Phineas. After all, everyone just knows at least 20 or 30 of those.
When my secretary tries to determine Bill's surname, the reply usually is: "He knows me."
I try to give Bill the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had a good reason for not leaving his surname. Perhaps he doesn't have one. After all there are a number of motion picture and historical personalities known only by one name: Cher, Socrates, Brutus.
I soon conclude, however, that I know no famous singers, philosophers, or assassins. I am therefore convinced that Bill must have a surname but does not divulge it to me because it's a tongue twister. Maybe it's a complicated foreign name, with 18 letters and only one vowel. I have four or five clients like that…and my butcher…but none are Bills. They're all called Frank.
I ponder further, and it occurs to me that perhaps Bill's surname is so common that he feels that I simply won't believe him. He thinks I'll just read the message and say: "Bill Smith? Yeah, right. And I'm Jim Brown."
Who knows? I only can plead with all you Bills, Toms, and Georges to please leave your surnames. It's okay if your first name is not Adelbert.
Then there's the caller who gladly leaves his full name but never his telephone number. He obviously has great respect for my memory skills as he refuses to divulge this trivial but priceless piece of information. He'll say: "He knows my number."
True, it's here somewhere. But where? This person would sooner spend ten minutes on the phone insisting that the onus is on me to come up with the magic number rather than succumb and utter the digits in question. And he gets rather upset if my assistant persists in trying to crack the code of silence.
He'll continue: "He's got to have my number. He called me once before. What kind of lawyer is he anyway?"
Then there is the paranoiac. This person presumes that I have hired an assistant for the express purpose of acting as a buffer between himself and me, and for no other purpose. Although the secretary assures him that I'm out of the office, he is adamant that I am actually in and deliberately hiding from him.
He'll say something like: "Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. I know for a fact he's in."
And we must not forget the person who respects the powers and abilities of the secretary so much that he is content to deal with her exclusively. This is the person who calls with a problem, and on learning that I'm out, he simply relates the facts of his case to her, expecting a fully polished legal opinion instantly. All she did to bring this about was venture to ask for this person's name and phone number.
The response is: "Yesterday, a case of Pampers crashed down on my head at Costco..."
At least this person is not abusive. He just ties up my phone line for three hours. This makes it impossible for guys like Bill to get through.
This last type is a close cousin to the character who not only figures my secretary has extensive legal training but that she is also a doctor. The conversation will go something like: "I have another neck ache today. Do you think I should go back to the chiropractor? Or should I put on my cervical collar? Do you know what a pain in the neck is?"
This last question she can answer unequivocally.
I truly sympathize with my secretary. But I don't want her rushing into my office tomorrow, asking for a raise. I won't be in.
Three things in life annoy me: snow plows blocking my driveway with avalanches of snow, vinegar on French fries, and people calling my office and failing to leave an adequate message.
As snow is seasonal and more health-conscious folks desist from eating French fries, this leaves the message problem as the most pressing issue that torments me. A day at my office would simply not be complete without some of the following incidents occurring.
I get back from lunch and I ask my secretary whether there have been any calls. She hands me the message slips and invariably one of them reads: “Call Bill.” No surname.
Presumably Bill feels that his name is such a rarity that I'll just look at the slip and exuberantly say: "Of course, Bill." No doubt Bill believes that his name is not as commonplace as say, Adelbert or Phineas. After all, everyone just knows at least 20 or 30 of those.
When my secretary tries to determine Bill's surname, the reply usually is: "He knows me."
I try to give Bill the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had a good reason for not leaving his surname. Perhaps he doesn't have one. After all there are a number of motion picture and historical personalities known only by one name: Cher, Socrates, Brutus.
I soon conclude, however, that I know no famous singers, philosophers, or assassins. I am therefore convinced that Bill must have a surname but does not divulge it to me because it's a tongue twister. Maybe it's a complicated foreign name, with 18 letters and only one vowel. I have four or five clients like that…and my butcher…but none are Bills. They're all called Frank.
I ponder further, and it occurs to me that perhaps Bill's surname is so common that he feels that I simply won't believe him. He thinks I'll just read the message and say: "Bill Smith? Yeah, right. And I'm Jim Brown."
Who knows? I only can plead with all you Bills, Toms, and Georges to please leave your surnames. It's okay if your first name is not Adelbert.
Then there's the caller who gladly leaves his full name but never his telephone number. He obviously has great respect for my memory skills as he refuses to divulge this trivial but priceless piece of information. He'll say: "He knows my number."
True, it's here somewhere. But where? This person would sooner spend ten minutes on the phone insisting that the onus is on me to come up with the magic number rather than succumb and utter the digits in question. And he gets rather upset if my assistant persists in trying to crack the code of silence.
He'll continue: "He's got to have my number. He called me once before. What kind of lawyer is he anyway?"
Then there is the paranoiac. This person presumes that I have hired an assistant for the express purpose of acting as a buffer between himself and me, and for no other purpose. Although the secretary assures him that I'm out of the office, he is adamant that I am actually in and deliberately hiding from him.
He'll say something like: "Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. I know for a fact he's in."
And we must not forget the person who respects the powers and abilities of the secretary so much that he is content to deal with her exclusively. This is the person who calls with a problem, and on learning that I'm out, he simply relates the facts of his case to her, expecting a fully polished legal opinion instantly. All she did to bring this about was venture to ask for this person's name and phone number.
The response is: "Yesterday, a case of Pampers crashed down on my head at Costco..."
At least this person is not abusive. He just ties up my phone line for three hours. This makes it impossible for guys like Bill to get through.
This last type is a close cousin to the character who not only figures my secretary has extensive legal training but that she is also a doctor. The conversation will go something like: "I have another neck ache today. Do you think I should go back to the chiropractor? Or should I put on my cervical collar? Do you know what a pain in the neck is?"
This last question she can answer unequivocally.
I truly sympathize with my secretary. But I don't want her rushing into my office tomorrow, asking for a raise. I won't be in.
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© 2007 Marcel Strigberger. This article CANNOT be copied or reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the Author.
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