My throat tightened the instant I heard the familiar click and hum.

"Thank you for calling Patsy's Posies...", said the proprietor's recorded voice.

"I hate talking to machines.", I muttered.

"Our shop is closed at the present time, but your call is very important to us..."

"My call is going to be completely incoherent.", I replied.

"... so please leave a detailed message after the beep and we'll return your call promptly." The machine then began to emit a series of electronic tones that sounded almost, but not quite like 'Clair d'Lune'.

It's not that I have anything against answering machines. I have one myself. They're useful. It's talking to them that gives me the kajeebies.

Most people are better at this than I am. They have enough sense to leave their name and number and maybe one or two more sentences, like; "You made a mistake on my order. Please call me." For some reason, my brain refuses to do that.

Maybe it's the tone. I have this theory that somewhere in the distant past I was given a post-hypnotic suggestion that is triggered by the sound of an answering machine tone. It's like that old movie about deep-cover enemy agents that infiltrate the country and assume normal lives, only to be turned into killers and saboteur's when they hear their secret phrase. In the scene I'm thinking of, the phone rings and a quiet, respectable, mid-western school teacher picks it up. The caller has an eastern European accent and says something cryptic like, 'The Eagle Flies At Midnight'. The next thing you know, the mild-mannered teacher is off to blow up a dam.

It's like that with me and answering machines, only instead of a phrase, it's the beep. And instead of turning into a mind-numbed killer zombie, I turn into a mind-numbed generator of endless streams of inarticulate babble. Never in my life have I completed a single coherent sentence while speaking to an answering machine. Never in my life have I been able to stop talking in less than five minutes.

Clair d'Lune was followed by the infamous tone and I began:

"Uh, Hi! This is, uh, Geoff... Geoff Miller calling. I don't know if you remember me, but I ordered a birthday bouquet that you delivered to my sister on her birthday last Tuesday. Well, actually, Tuesday wasn't her real birthday, but that's when we had her party because she was going out of town on Friday and wouldn't be back til the following Wednesday and her real birthday was the Monday in between, so we figured we'd give her a party before she left. So anyway, you guys delivered the bouquet to her house and she said she liked it a lot, only it wasn't her anniversary. And I said, 'Huh?', and she said that it wasn't her anniversary, it was her birthday, and I'm kinda thick sometimes and didn't get the connection, but eventually, she explained that the bouquet you sent said 'Happy Anniversary' instead of 'Happy Birthday' and what I was wondering was, since this is Wednesday night could you maybe deliver a new bouquet tomorrow that says 'Happy Birthday' instead of 'Happy Anniversary', since she'd still be home tomorrow, but not Friday since she's going out of town and since the anniversary bouquet is still fresh, maybe you could just swap it out and give it to someone who called you because they needed a bouquet for an actual anniversary instead of a birthday or something else. So anyway, if you could re-deliver another bouquet that says 'Happy Birthday' instead of 'Happy Anniversary' I'd be really 'Happy', even though it isn't my birthday or my anniversary."

"But don't do it if there's going to be an extra charge because I don't think there should be an extra charge because it wasn't my fault, but I don't want you to get stuck with it either... that's why I mentioned the part about maybe sending the anniversary one to someone who ordered one that you'd be delivering anyway. So anyway... if you have any questions, please call me at seven-two-..."

"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" The tape had run out on their machine. That happens to me ALL the time.

It is said that we always hurt the ones we love. That's just because we're around them more. In my family's case, they are the ones to take the brunt of my babbling, since I call them more often than I call people like the florist. If I called the florist as often, I'm sure she'd be just as annoyed with me as my family is.

They have all developed their own unique ways of coping with my problem. My Mom, for instance, never even listens to my messages. Here's a typical exchange:

Me: "Hi Ma! Did you get my message?"

Mom: "No... but when I got home it took an hour and a half for the answering machine tape to rewind, so I figured you must have called. Whaddya' want?"

My sister has a little more fun with it. Every now and again-- when my messages have aggravated her to the point of violence-- she will call here when I'm not home and talk to my machine until the tape runs out, just to show me how it feels.

My brother is far more cruel. He holds his receiver up to his answering machine and plays my message back to my machine. When I get home and check my messages, I get to listen to how stupid I sound.

Deep down, though, I know they love me. That's the only way to explain the Christmas present they sent. It consists of a one-year supply of duct tape, one of those micro-palm-sized cassette recorders and one pre-recorded tape. The instructions read:

"Tear a six-inch strip of tape and place it across your mouth. Insert the micro-cassette tape into the player. Dial the telephone. If a real person answers, remove the duct tape from your mouth and speak. If a machine answers, hold your recorder to the mouthpiece, hit 'play', hold for five seconds, then hang up."

I slid the cassette into the tiny machine and gave it a try.

"This is Geoff.", said my brother's recorded voice. "Call me. Good-bye"


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