I hate talking on the phone. Actually, upgrade that to “loathe.” I LOATHE talking on the phone with strangers, particularly if I must first sit through a long and muzaked waiting period.
I loathe it even more if the situation I’m trying to explain is particularly complicated. Today was a painful day with three of these phone calls. Two to some community organizations which may have some sources I need for my research. Those went fairly well, to my surprise; although my request was unequivocally denied by one, both were pleasant and civil.
The third one I have been dreading for days, because I knew it was going to be a doozy. I had transferred my prescription from my SoCal pharmacy to a local one. And now, because it would be $25 cheaper per month, I wanted to transfer my prescription to mail-order. But it was complicated: my doctor’s name wasn’t coming up on the transfer website, so I finally gave up and called customer service. After being repeatedly told that my call was important to them, I spent the next 10 minutes sounding like a COMPLETE AND TOTAL MORON to some poor man named Fred. At one point I just heard this awful, painful sigh. “Msssss. Apricot. Do you know what a prescription is?”
And you know, I actually don’t. I mean, was it the little slip of paper I got from the pharmacy? What? He explained it as an actual written form. But I haven’t seem those in years–my prescriptions were always electronically transferred from my doctor to the university pharmacy. And prior to college, I had never handled one of my own prescriptions. Soooo. I was blushing furiously as I realized how stupid I sounded.
It’s precisely because of situations like these that I absolutely despise making phone calls to strangers. Agh I hate the telephone! HATE!
