When the phone rang in our house growing up, my mom would grimace. It was usually for me, and it was usually my best friend or current love lust interest. She knew that the phone line would be occupied for the night as I grabbed the cordless and headed to my room for privacy.

I was known to keep that phone tied up for hours. Rarely did anyone else in our house ever use it, nor did they try and get me off of it. I think they found peace in the fact that I was locked away in my room and not spewing my teenage mellow drama throughout our peaceful home.

As years passed and high school ended, I moved on to college where I lived with my four best friends. There was no need to be on the phone - expect to Mike when he lived on the other side of the country for work over three months of my last year - another post all together.

My love for the phone diminished. As I became an adult, with my own phone, it decreased further to the point of disdain now that the telemarketers got my number. I hate talking on the phone. I hate just about everything to do with the phone: maybe because work has taken the fun! out of it since it’s more of a work tool for work stuff then for the enjoyment and gossip that I used to get out of it.

With my pregnancy winding down (OMG! 6 weeks left!) I’ve been getting the last of my appointments and registrations and bookings set up: requiring the phone.

One important registration that I’ve put off was booking with the hospital to save time when I arrive, ready to pop this child out. So I called this morning to set up an appointment with the labour and delivery department for a tour and registration. It’s a brand new hospital that I have yet to visit, so I think it’s a little imperative that I get some kind of idea where the hell I’m supposed to go.

I called the number provided by my doctor only to be greeted by a tin can voice directory.

Great start.

I navigated through part of the menu that took me to the hospital I was actually looking for fine; but then the voice activation kicked in.

Let me just state that whomever, in their right mind, thinks that voice activation is a good idea is a complete fucking idiot. Voice activation is just another one of Satan’s tool to frustrate people to the point of almost committing unlawful acts of violence and instilling pain on those who may be in the vicinity while trying to use that damn system.

I said, “Department” as requested by the tin can voice, who then proceeded to repeat it back to me.

Piece of shit is mocking me.

Okay, I think, please just give me the list of departments.

Then it hung up on me.

Great.

As I began cursing the stupid mechanical voice, I hear snickers coming from the other side of the office. Not only am I being mocked by a pre-recored voice, I’m providing entertainment for my colleagues.

I start again.

I try pressing zero to avoid the bullshit and get to a real person.

“You’ve pressed an incorrect key.”

Pressing zero repeatedly usually works, so I try that.

“There is no patient here by that name.” It mocks.

WTF!? Crap.

Hang up.

Begin to curse The Voice again only to hear more snickers from the peanut gallery.

Try again.

Back to press this, press that, press this… then say “Department”

“DE-PART-MENT.” I stated.

The voice lists off the HOSPITALS again!.

I say the one I’m looking for: no trouble, it actually understood me. We moved on to the list of departments.

“Say the name of the department you are looking for.”

“Obstetrical Booking.” I stated.

“I’m sorry. I did not understand your request.”

“OB-STET-RICAL-BOOK-ING.”

“I’m sorry you seem to be having trouble. I will now transfer you.”

Praise the Lord! A HUMAN! I get to talk to a human being!!

At this point I’m about ready to jump up and down jubilantly screaming that I had defeated The Voice.

Then ANOTHER fucking pre-recorded voice interrupts my victory celebration.

“I’m sorry. Our office is now closed. Our office hours are from 8am to 6pm. Please try your call again at a different time.”

Then it hangs up on me.

I remove the phone from my ear and stare at it.

It’s fuckin’ 10:30am! 10:30!

It’s not a weekend, nor is it a statutory holiday.

As I curse the phone, the stupid departments, and the fact that their damn voice doesn’t even know the damn time, I hear bursts of laughter from the other side of the office.

I’m certain that damn tin can voice is laughing at me too.