DW often gets upset with me when she calls, just to talk, and I want to end that call. "Hi, what's up?" I ask, then, "Yup... uh-huh... yup... did you need anything?... Yup... I've gotta go... uh-huh... yup... okay... yup... okay... bye... yup... okay, bye!"And I know how that sounds: she's your wife, jerk, talk to her!
But there are a lot of times when she calls me while she's driving. She's hands-free, mind you. Don't start leaving comments about using a cell phone behind the wheel. She's safe.
DW likes to call me while she's on her way to work. I'm already in the office, either working on my own projects or conversing with co-workers. She asks me how my commute was, lets me know how bad her traffic is. Sometimes, she changes the subject mid-sentence: "Okay, buddy, what are you doing? Geesh, go already!"
She's not talking to me. She's striking up a one-way conversation with another driver who can't hear her but has either cut her off or is asleep at the wheel.
I try to end these conversations as soon as possible by letting her know I have to get to work. Even if I'm not busy. It's nothing against her, but I just don't want to keep her company while she makes her way into work.
And that's all it is. She wants company during her commute.
When I'm at home on the weekends and she's running errands, she'll call: "I just left Costco and I'm on my way to Sobey's." "I'm on my way home. I should be there in 10 minutes."
Usually, when she's running errands, I'm doing chores around the house. Often, my phone is in the kitchen, casting music to our family room through Bluetooth. I may not be in the room, but the music will pause and my smart watch will tell me that she's calling. I'll stop what I'm doing and make my way to the phone.
"Hi, there was a sale on the Farm Boy lasagna so I picked up a couple of boxes."
"Okay," I say, "what do you need?"
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm on my way home. I'll be there in less than five minutes."
I prefer to receive calls for when information is required: "I'm at Sobey's. Do we need milk? How's our butter situation? There's a sale on perogies at Costco. Do you have a flavour preference?"
It's really nothing personal against DW. I just don't care to chat on the phone.
Face-to-face, with my friends and family, I'm hard to shut up. Once I get going, no one can get a word in edge-wise.
Put me on the phone, and I clam right up.
No chit-chat. No small talk. Just tell me what I want to know or listen to what I need to tell you, and say goodbye, already.
I've been this way since I was a young kid. I would call friends to invite them over to my place or to see if I could go to their homes, to hang out. My conversations were brief, to the point, with no filler.
I had one friend who I've known since elementary school. In high school, we were both into music. Neil would call me, every once in a while, and once he knew it was me on the line, he would put his handset to a record player and drop the needle on a song. After a couple of seconds, no more than five, he would lift the needle and listen in as I named the artist and song title."Thomas Dolby, One of Our Submarines," I might offer.
If I was wrong, the needle would return to the vinyl for a few more seconds, and I'd be allowed a second guess. But I was rarely wrong the first time.
Neil would say nothing. As soon as I identified the song, he hung up.
I loved those calls.
Today, I have only one or two friends with whom I chat on the phone, but these are the rare exceptions. They are people I've known for a very long time and live outside the city. We usually call only to wish each other a happy birthday, and then we briefly catch up.
Today, if you live in town, be suspicious if I call you up, merely to ask how you're doing.
There is one friend that I've known almost as long as Neil, and though we rarely talk on the phone anymore, she is the only person with whom I used to be able to stay on the line for hours.
In high school, Karen and I often would go for walks in the evening and talk. Or be quiet for long periods of time, where we'd just enjoy each other's company as we wandered our Parkwood Hills neighbourhood.
We never dated, though there was a period in which my parents were sure that Karen and I were fooling around. (It didn't help that on one of our walks, Karen had the need to remove an uncomfortable bra—she removed it from under her shirt and pulled it out one sleeve, but having no way to carry it, I offered to place it in my jacket pocket. She forgot about it at the end of her walk, as did I, and it wasn't until a few days later, when my younger sister borrowed my coat and found the bra, that I returned it to Karen.)
After our walks, I would see Karen to her door and would then head straight home, only to phone Karen and continue any conversations we had had on our walk. Sometimes, the phone would become quiet: one of us would leave the phone to go to the washroom or get ready for bed, and then return to the phone.We were both fortunate to have a second land line in our houses. She had three sisters and I had two, and our parents knew the importance of keeping a line free for them to use.
I'd be ready for bed, tucked in, lights out. Karen and I would keep talking. Sometimes, we'd both be quiet for a while. Eventually, I could hear the slow, steady breathing of Karen, fast asleep. I would be tempted to hang up, but I knew that in doing so, she would eventually hear a dial tone and then a loud, alarming fast-busy tone. If the phone was still next to her ear, it would be a horrible way to be awakened.
So I would listen to Karen sleep, be calmed, and eventually drift to sleep, myself.
(Seriously, we've only ever been good friends.)
With anyone else, I want to keep the phone conversation short and to the point. If you want to just chat, I'm not your guy to call. Even if you're married to me.
Even at the risk of me, sounding like a jerk.
