On Telemarketers

So I yelled at a fireman today.

I feel pretty bad about it. I'm not one to support any sort of Brawny-Paper-Towel-Guy prototypical "manly" careers, chiefly because as a small, weak, brainy individual I'm sort of stuck with believing these jobs stress physicality over intelligence and that is horrible. Either that or I admit I'm a genetically less appealing specimen, and we all know that's not the case.

Anyway, the guy called about donating to the Fireman's Something Or Other, and there was a lot of noise in the background and I really wasn't having any of it.

The reason being, when this particular firefighter called I was mid-poop.

And I don't want to get too graphic, but when I say mid-poop, I mean right in the middle. Like the baby wasn't birthed yet, but he was crowning.

I had rushed out to phone in case it was one of my many ailing relatives of advanced age and was none too thrilled in hearing Mr. Fireman Guy on the line.

I had to interrupt to tell him that I was sorry, but my family does not donate over the phone. We give when the mailings come in but not over the phone.

He said that he just wanted to make sure we were still interested in receiving the mailing, which had to be a complete lie because why waste a phone call that will round up to the minute when you can waste a $0.00 postage exempt charity postcard?

Anyway I yelled, "SORRY, GOODBYE!" and hung up on him.

I felt really bad for the rest of my poop, especially because it really didn't take all that long. I could have pooped with him on the line, if I'd been a terrible person.

So yes, I yelled at a heroic firefighter today, a man large and strong enough to kill me if he wanted, but who has dedicated his life instead to the pursuit of saving lives.

And I'd probably do it all over again tomorrow. I'd rather the man hate me than tell him he caught me with my pants down.





Pooping.