Image © depositphotos.com/stokkete
The best way to get someone to end the hold they’ve placed on your phone call is to go to the bathroom. Without fail, you’ll hear the words, “Thanks for holding,” the second you start to pee.
That’s when the dilemma starts. Do I keep peeing and try to hide it or try to stop peeing and finish the conversation?
Today I was on hold for the nice woman at the school board to whom I’d just finished delivering a ginormous pile of verbal diarrhea and she was off finding me a name and phone number of someone who might give a shit. Apparently there weren’t a lot of shit-givers on duty, because I was on hold for so long World War III started upstairs where my three kids were playing, and at some point during my intervention I forgot I had the phone attached to my head. My days lately are a continuous daze of one distraction after another and while still on hold, I wandered into the bathroom and was sitting on the can still shouting at the kids when I heard . . .
“Thanks for holding. I have that name and number for you.”
I was so startled by the sudden voice in my ear—I almost dropped the phone into the toilet. Good thing I didn’t because it would have passed through Niagara Falls on the way, which I was suddenly attempting to shut off. I’d been on hold for so long, I’d forgotten I was even holding the phone and now she could probably hear me peeing. I managed to dial things down to a trickle, but this took so much effort I couldn’t talk at the same time. My head was going to pop off if I did, I just knew it.
She started reciting information I was supposed to be writing down. What she thought was going on at my end I’ll never know for sure but I’m pretty sure she knew I was on the toilet.
She must have heard my semi-staccato stream each time I spoke, my responses suddenly clipped really short into single syllables, “Yup, kay, kay, mm-hmm, thanks, bye.”
I spent all that time on hold, and in the end I couldn’t even write the number down. Hopefully if I can remember the name, Google will do the rest for me later. The whole time she was talking, all I could think was Does she know? Does she know? Squeeze! Don’t pee don’t pee don’t pee . . .
It was bladder wars, and it sucked because even when you’re winning, you’re losing. There is no triumph in Kegeling your bladder into back-flow, trust me. Apparently I’ve reached a new level of aging I wasn’t prepared for, where telephone call preparation is required much like it is before Zumba class. That’s life though, right? All we can really do is go with the flow. And do Kegels. We can always do Kegels.