Answering Machine Messages

He left messages on her answering machine, which were so awkward and bumbling that she was shocked he hadn’t gotten himself together before picking up the phone. He never once called her before 10:30 p.m. A typical message ran like this:

It began with no language at all, no greeting. Just the sound of a rowdy bar, loud music, bursts of speech. Zack’s guffaw would be heard, clearly responding to a joke as he waited for her machine to pick up. Then suddenly he would remember the phone in his hand and toss himself into his message like a sky-diver.

“Yeah. Erin � Hi. Uh � Hm. Hmmm. How was your day?” Then, in a simpering tone, imitating his perception of himself, ” ‘How was your day, how was your day �’ DORK! Uhm � whatever. Whatever. I’m down at Compton’s and � where the fuck are you? Jesus CHRIST!” (Shrieked like a lunatic.) “You’re playin’ hard to get with me NOW?? Anyway. If you get this soon, come on down.” Then, imitating himself, in a singsong voice, “Come on down, come on down!” Then, his growly sour tone again. “Dammit, I am such a jackass. Bye.” There was a long pause as he went to put the receiver down, and then suddenly he was back, saying in a normal tone, “This is Zack, by the way.” �Click�

Molly, after hearing one of these messages, commented: “I looked up the word �Weirdo McWeirdster’ in the dictionary last night, and there was his picture.” But Erin knew the man was physically incapable of leaving a message along the lines of: “Hi, there, Erin. It’s Zack. Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to come down to Compton’s and join me for a drink? The Cubs game is on. Hope you can make it.” He would need to have a bone-marrow transplant in order to speak like that. But to Erin those messages were extravaganzas of vulnerability. She hated to delete them.