Today I must be busy.  Think of me as a phone call, placed to someone irritating, say like the IRS.  If you call them, you have to wait.  Pure and simple.  I’m kind of like that today.

Thank you for visiting Word Shadows.  Your comments are always greatly appreciated, and will be replied to in the order they were received.

A big project is nearly complete and demands one final burst of my energy.  You have to love the customer who one second asks you why things take so long, and the next asks you to walk around the garden with her and marvel at the rhododendron blooms.

Word Shadows appreciates its readers.  Please continue to hold and someone will be with you shortly.  Your hold time is approximately [in computer generated voice] six hours and fourteen minutes.

After today, things will be different.  By simple definition, today can’t be tomorrow, and that alone makes things different.  Doesn’t it?

Thank you for holding.  In order to expedite your comments, your cooperation is appreciated.  Using the alphanumeric keypad on your touchtone phone, please enter the opening chapter from Leo Tolstoy’s novel, War and Peace.  If you make a mistake, simply press *9, and begin again.  Your hold time is approximately [the voice] six hours and thirteen minutes.

Slow builds and painful beginnings.  Anguish expressed by the pinched but smiling faces of employees, working for free.  Promises and promises.  More promises.  The tempo builds.  The workers build.  Everyone builds.

All at once until the noise is maddening, but then a break.  The sun shines.  Clouds separate and the workers shed an outer layer.  Customers see things take shape and begin to smile.  Promises and promises.  More promises.  What once were only words and dreams have taken shape.

The final week breaks into a quick time tempo.  No more promises, only action.  A final flurry and final arrangements.  Stone and stain, plants and custom latches all arrive with unbelievable precision.  Jaws drop and neighbors gather and everyone steps back to admire.

Except us, who scurry away to begin the song all over again in another place for other people.

I might even whistle while I work today.  A payday has finally arrived!  My first in about two months.  My wallet will howl at the moon.  Maybe I will buy myself a new shirt and stare at myself in the mirror.  Maybe my wallet and I will howl together - a harmony of relief.  We’ll turn on the shower for background music and flush the toilet when we feel like hearing an appreciative roar.

I love working for myself.  I never pay myself, yet I never quit.  I am the company store and financially trapped worker - all wrapped into one.  I am America at its best.  I am a match made in heaven.

f l u s h

Thank you, thank you.  We’ll be here all week.

The only thing standing between me and a perfect Friday is a red light blinking the number 10 over and over.  Ten phone messages waiting to be listened to.  It may be nothing, or it might just be the gates of hell waiting to burst open.  You never can tell.

Most people are under the impression that the gates of hell need a key.  Or maybe you’re one of those who think the gates are watched over by a big shiny devil guy with a red twisted smile and an oversized fork.  Nope.  The whole evil thing seems to open and close with the push of a little, innocent looking button on a vTech answering machine.  It’s hard to believe, I know.  I couldn’t believe it myself when I first discovered it.  But I assure you it’s true. 

Sometimes I wonder where evil hid when there weren’t any answering machines.  Has being a devil gotten easier?  What was it like, back in the good ‘ol days of evil?

You young devils just don’t know how easy you have it!

Oh grandpa.  Not another one of your old devil stories.  Spare us.

Why . . back in my day a devil would have to walk half a day just for the chance to torment a soul.  Through two feet of snow, mind you.  There weren’t none of these electronic gizmos.

Grandpa, they save time!

Time?!  Time?!  We have eternity for crying out loud!  You don’t need to save time.  The whole hell business has just gone to hell, if you ask me.

Well no one did, grandpa.  Now come here and leave a message.  His machine’s about to pick up.

Oh hells bells.  I just left one an hour ago.

Well leave him another.  It’s Friday you know.  Give him something good to hold him over until Monday.

It’s still early.  Maybe I’ll just push the button and hope for the best.  If you’re religious, you know what to do.  If you’re not, well, then I guess you’re on your own.  As for all the rest of you who ride the fence and ponder the options, I might suggest going with the slightly more expensive voicemail.  Or maybe a secretary.  Anything to help with the filtering process.  One low tech solution I’ve heard about is as simple as poking out your eardrums with a sharp pencil.  But that sounds like it might hurt, so I haven’t tried it.  As a matter of fact, the whole poking thing has a bit of that devilish ring to it.  I’m thinking it may be a trick.

I’ll let you know if I hear anything.