Mrs. Kurtz, On Hold, part the fourth. Note: The hubby’s name has been changed to Marcus.

Mrs. Kurtz squealed. “Marcus!”

“What about it, woman? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Marcus flipped through a copy of the TV Guide.

“Fine,” she said. He wanted to watch cable television when he could have been using the internet, fine. Fine. The ignoramus got his recommended dailly allowance of porn by paying for it. Fine. “Nevermind, just some special offer I’m sure we can’t afford.”

Marcus grunted.

The message repeated five times while she scraped what letfovers the dogs hadn’t eaten into the garbage, changed Desi’s diaper, contemplated getting a fill on her nails this Saturday, bitched at her kids for leaving their crap underfoot, and flipped through Marcus’s discarded TV guide. Because the bastid had gone out. And she had a kink in her neck now from holding the damn phone on her shoulder.

Jim T. Biggins said, “I know there’s nothing I can say to make you belive me, but…”

Click.

“Hello my name is Scott and in order to serve you better may I have your phone number?”

“You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ until you tell me what the hell kind of jerk-offs you have leaving freaky messages on your answering machine.”