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2006-11-29 - 3:14 p.m.

The joy and embarrassment of an answering machine

The day of hand-cranked ice cream and AM radio are long gone. Today’s world is about new and improved techno-widgets that will make our lives easier and more efficient. Where once technology was predominantly the domain of the scientist, today we all get to benefit from the latest gadgets and wizardry. It’s not just for nerds and geeks anymore.

Although not a complete slave to technology, I do have my share of life-made-easier toys. Computer. Calculator. Does a George Foreman grill count? Pack-about CD player—no, I have not upgraded to an iPod—Sirius Satellite Radio, digital camera and an answering machine.

Several years ago, when I purchased my first answering machine, I brought the first piece of innovative technology into my home, automating my world and making a tentative connection with social progress. Hot damn for me! I was really quite proud of myself--that little magic box was going to be a revolutionary tool, sure to transform my life. Even if it failed to live up to those lofty goals, the damn thing was guaranteed to record incoming calls when I was gone or otherwise engaged in the house. That first machine was a large, cumbersome contraption using magnetic tape. It was so bulky I didn’t know where to put it. My kitchen counter space was limited; consequently, my state-of-the-art technology was exiled to the back bedroom. But, it was new and novel, so I checked it frequently. I bought a Rich Little tape with several ‘canned’ messages and alternated between the breathy Marilyn Monroe and the drunken Foster Brooks. I had fun with it, although my sainted mother was forever instructing me to “get those awful things off that machine!”

Some years later I replaced the original machine with one about half the size. It, too, was exiled to the back bedroom. By then I had added additional technical gadgets to my arsenal and the answering machine was often neglected. Sometimes I would go days without checking it—messages piled up. Complaints were registered about my being incommunicado.

Those complaints spurred an idea, and, paired with my resistance to become a total techno-geek and add more features to my phone service, including caller ID or call waiting, I started using the machine to screen calls. These days, I don’t answer the phone at all. It cuts down on wasted time on telemarketing scams, election campaign spiels, charitable donations and explaining why I’m not Martha Lou, “cause that’s by gawd who I called!” My stubborn refusal to pick up the phone is a well-known fact among friends. Most calls from them are of the “Dammitt, I know you’re there, pick up that gawdam phone” variety!

My latest upgrade is a combination cordless phone and answering machine--a compact unit with sold state memory. No more magnetic tape. This one isn’t tucked away out of sight (and out of mind). Its size fits fine on the kitchen cabinet. It’s right there where I can see it, see the red light blinking and retrieve my messages. On the downside, the location also makes it easy to accidentally trigger the Record button when puttering around in the kitchen. Doing that can be embarrassing. I know. Three weeks ago I did exactly that. Tripped Record and went off about my business. The memory chip is 90 minutes. The message going out to any caller was a 90-minute playback of me talking to Madison and Emma. “Jesus Madison! Jesus Madison! Sit down, Maddie” was mixed with sounds of my banging around in the kitchen or TV noise in the background. Then the dialogue was back to “Ooohh, you’re a good baby. Isn’t Maddie a good girl, Emma? You girls want a cookie?” More unintelligible muttering from another room, and then back in the kitchen and up close and personal with the machine’s mic: “Hey, Maddie, let’s go poo poo!”

On and on it went. The outgoing rap-with-the-dogs session completely ate up the minutes, so messages could not be left. And, because I won’t pick up the phone, for days people were unable to reach me to alert me to my phone message faux pas. A lot of ringing, clicks and silence. I dismissed them as calls from rude people! Later, most callers said it eventually became vital they reach me. They wanted to tell me they were certain--beyond a reasonable doubt--that I had finally lost my mind! A couple of smartasses said they “didn’t need to go poo poo.”

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