Until today. In my inbox was a note from the boss asking me to listen in on a conference call at noon. Which I could do from home easily enough, so I grabbed my notepad and pen and situated myself nicely on the couch under Beast's blanket with the phone, called the 800 number promptly at 11:59, then listened to the on-hold lite jazz as I waited patiently for the conference call to begin. Waiting...patiently...waiting...patiently...ooh, pretty music...
Thank you for participating in today's conference call. You may disconnect at any time.
RUT-ROH.
A flop-sweating cringe came over me the likes of which I hadn't experienced in more than 20 years, when I zoned out in a college Latin class only to come around at the very moment the professor asked me what a noun was and I hommina-hommina-hommina'd for what seemed an eternity before personplaceorthing fell out of my mouth, along with a little bead of drool that had been accumulating in the right corner of my mouth during my doze. (Even then, I could bring the sexy.)
Eventually I fumbled around and found the notepad on which I had scribbled a few things, and so if anybody asks there's evidence that I was lucid...okay, conscious at least...and taking notes for at least part of the call. Damned if I remember doing it, though.
So. Isn't a key idea behind the concept of a conference call that the participants should be awake for it? And if so, does it not hugely defeat the purpose to keep said participants waiting to being the call while under the spell of music that would make Kenny G go scanning the radio dial for some Sabbath, dude?
Anyway, tomorrow night Her Awesomeness and I are going to try reading bedtime stories to the kids via conference call.
(beep) Please continue to wait patiently while Mommy turns the page...(beep)...
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