311

Photo by the one and only Carrie Thomas

If it weren't for telemarketers I'd have no one to talk to.
I sit by the phone, hoping they will call. I started signing myself up for all of these online promotions, giving my home phone number in hopes that just maybe I'll be lucky enough to get on one of those lists that spread like wildfire until everyone from visa to vagisil is calling me.

You want to know if I own a car?
Why, no, I don't. It's been so long since someone really listened.
You're such a good listener.
Are you single?
*click*

This is the third telemarketer who has hung up on me, today.
What am I doing wrong? I just want to be loved.

I had this dream that I called 311 to complain about a flickering street light and the man who answered the phone
had this voice that was smooth like a chocolate milk shake.

I curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and told him all of my fantasies.
He told me that his shift ends at 6 and that we should take a flight to the bahamas.

I told him I had things to do, but he insisted. He assured me that as a man in the high stress world of underwear modeling, that the Bahamas really help him to relax. He asked me if I liked having shakespeare read to me after making hot passionate love and eating fresh pineapple. I said, I couldn't see anything wrong with this. He asked me if I wanted to adopt a chinese baby and grow old with him. I told him I couldn't be sure until we met. He told me he was a member of mensa and that if I needed to see his picture, I just had to take the train to Broadway Lafayette and look at the big billboard for Calvin Klein. He told me he was a virgin and wanted me to be his first.

I woke up with a headache and the blurry image of my laptop screensaver flickering through pictures of nature.
I took a long cold shower and sat by the phone. I wondered if there were any street lights flickering. I thought about calling 311.