Playtime

The phone rings. The caller ID reads "Out of State." Fernando answers with his usual greeting.

"Yes, could I speak with whomever oversees your website maintenance?" asks the Indian-accented man on the line. It's news to Fernando that he even has a website.

"With whomever," eh? thinks Fernando, doubly-sure he's dealing with a telemarketer. He wracks his brain trying to remember who that could possibly be. Then he recollects who serves as his web wizard.

Fernando pitches his voice in the direction of nasal and affects a smarmy tone. "Yeah, what do you want?"

"I am calling on behalf of Easygrip Enterprises. We are having a special deal for businesses such as yourself."

"Wait a second. I'm the guy who does the inner-tubes stuff here. What makes you think I'd source this kind of delicate development out-of-house? Do you even know what we do here?"

"According to my records--"

"We are engaging in a momentous experiment! The sort of experiment you see only once every hundred...no, two hundred years! I can't have such things plastered willy-nilly all over cyberspace for the pornographers to steal my thunder!"

"Sir, could we be serious for a second?"

"Sir? Sir!? I'll have you know I resent the human-centric biases in language with regard to honorifics! Do you know how many time's I've had to deal with some fool who insisted on being called "sir" or "lord" just because his parents happened to insist on being called "sir" or "lord"? Jeans and not genes, as my uncle always said! Did you know that my uncle invented jeans?"

"Sir, please."

"Oh, I get it. You just want to call here to take up my time on piffling matters of no great importance and you don't want to hear about my uncle. How rude! How--"

Fernando cuts off here because the telemarketer hangs up. "Why does nobody want to be my friend?" he wails to the empty store.