A foul bundle of voicemails awaited me this morning.
Thursday afternoon, we were released early from work due to a wicked blizzard that was bearing down upon us. Friday was a snow day. The display window on my phone warned me of the expected irritants when I sat down at my desk today.
Sighing, I dialed my access code.
"SIX. TEEN. MESSAGES. MESSAGE ONE. THURS. DAY. MARCH. TWENTY-SIXTH. AT. FIVE. OH. NINE P.M."
Nasal, creaky, annoying voice. "T-Bone, this is Mavis up on the hill. We are completely snowed in. Can you send one of those plows--"
Delete! The snow melted on Saturday.
"MESSAGE TWO. FRI. DAY. MARCH. TWENTY-SEVENTH. AT. SEVEN. THIRTY-ONE A.M."
Hippie chick. "Hiiiiiiiii, this is Saaaaaaffron... my address is, uhhhh, 421 Main Street... I'm wondering if the plowwwwwwws--"
Delete! Melted. Saturday.
Messages three through ten were hangups: delete! Delete! Delete! Delete!
"MESSAGE ELEVEN. SUN. DAY. MARCH. TWENTY-NINTH. AT. TEN. A.M."
A man this time! Young. Sounds handsome.
"Uhhhhh... hi T-Bone? This is Troy? Me and my fiance are getting married at the park this June? I'm-- (chuckle) well, WE-- are wondering if the facility--"
Pound sign! Forward to Joyce, extension 2565.
"MESSAGE TWELVE. MON. DAY. MARCH. THIRTY. AT. SEVEN. FIFTEEN. A.M."
"T-Bone? This is Dave. I'm at the shop and we really need to know about use tax. Regional won't approve our addition--"
Pound sign! WHAMMO! Forward to Kerri, extension 2551.
Remainder of messages-- hang ups.