Often, when you most need peace and quiet to finish up the day’s work and just go home… unwanted things happen. Including irritiating calls from unwanted callers. And so it happened one evening, at work, as we slaved away working, trying to avoid the ever-nearing deadline.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Is Trisna in?”
“I don’t know any Trisna.”
“This is not Trisna’s house?”
“This is an office.”
“Well then, who are you? It’s late… what are you doing at work?” I can’t believe it! Horny old man.
“Sir, I’m trying to make a deadline. There is no Trisna. This is not Trisna’s house. Good night.”
I had to resist slamming the phone down.
Not long afterwards, another ring.
“Hello?”
“You’re so cold,” the man cooed *yuck!* “Let’s chat…”
“Sir, I’m busy.”
“So, I’ll call you when you’re not so busy.”
So I said nothing and slammed the phone.
An hour later… Damn, I thought, no end of work in sight yet. But the next telephone ring heralded the same person, who was steadily getting to my nerves. Oily speech and all.
“Hello?” I said (I hate phones without caller-ID)
“Still working?”
“Sir, my goodness. Don’t you have anything better to do? Nothing to do? No people to do? No one to do you?” I really have to stop myself from snorting (so unseemly, of course). “Well, of course not. Or you won’t be calling strangers at night.”
*slam*
The next ring was less than a minute, and I was so ready to call names at the caller. Fortunately I heard my mum’s voice from the other end. She wanted to know when I would be home. Phew! if mum knew what I was about to yell out, I’d be disowned for sure.
An hour later, and finally work was almost done. The dratted phone had to ring.
“Hello”
“Oh! You’re still here!”
(Dmn this man. Sarcasm and cutting words really flew past his head. Or he might just be a kind of oh… I don’t know… someone into sadomasochism or something, people who revel from violence from other people) Crap! Have to think about something else.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m on the night shift.”
“A girl? Night shift? Oh, that’s rough. You’ll need some companionship. Don’t call me, Sir. Call me mas” (a term of endearment in Javanese or some sort)
“Sir, I’m busy, okay?”
*slam*
The phone rang again.
“Why did you slam the phone on me?” he said without preamble.
Shit! Quick! Think!
“Sir, you’ll have to wait. We’ve just received a new body, and I need to log it first. By the way, are you looking for a body in particular, since you’ve been calling a lot of times tonight?”
There was silence from the other end, before finally…
“Um…” he sounded uncertain for once. Gone the casanova posturing from before, which made me really glad. “What kind of office is this, exactly?”
“Why, it’s the morgue’s office, of course. Where else would anyone store a dead body?”
Another bout of silence, and I’m on a roll.
“Sir! Oh, damn. Please hold the line. The new arrival’s arm has just fallen off! OH SHIT! It’s gone under the cupboard,” I said into the phone, all the while trying to make as much noise as I can with my office equipment. “Damn! Hey, you!” I called to a friend who has just returned (might as well recruit someone into this ruse. “Help me hold his head. It’s almost chopped off here! Don’t let the head roll away, okay?” We were trying so hard not to laugh. I mean, what the hell, really.
Finally, I remembered our audience. “Hello… Sir? Hello?”
Oh well.
