Just when I thought that I was running out of things to rant about, I got an automated call from UCLA Medical, where I had a orthopedic referral for my foot. It was a talking machine, which in a very pleasant and polite female voice, asked of me to confirm my appointment for the next day. It was a nice voice, soothing, helpful and conveying a willingness to be of service. Kinda took me by surprise, for I haven’t had such an uplifting conversation from a stranger in a long time; at least one that I wasn’t being charged $3.00 a minute for. I was euphoric; filled with wellbeing. So, with an attitude of loving-kindness, I pressed 1 for English, and filled with universal love, 2 for Confirm.I felt aglow, pressed the pound sign and hung-up.
Now I was lucky. I knew I was talking to a machine (I was un-medicated at the time), but it was a pleasant machine, programmed for politeness, not abuse. Good thing someone didn’t flip the switch in the back of this gadget to evil, for I would’ve had a whole different experience if some female sounding like my ex-wife was callin’: “Hey bum-fuck, get off your lazy ass and get it to the doctor…and where’s my check?”. My (present) wife even gets calls from machines letting her know that Her medication is either running out or on its way in the mail. How wonderful, I never get my medication in the mail; it would be a serious felony. That would go on my permanent record.
During the recent elections I got tons of calls from machines, asking me to do this or that. I even got a call from Charlie Sheen. He was going on about something, but I just wanted know if all he really did was sit around in shorts and cool shirts all day, drinking beer and screwing women. I was persistent, but he wouldn’t answer, and I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. Some programmer probably slipped some ex-wife software into his spiel. I could go on, but I’ll have my machine call ya and fill you in on the details.