(EDITOR'S NOTE: The owner, editor, sub-editors, production staff, advertising department, writers, copy persons, secretaries, receptionists and janitorial staff of this publication and their immediate families would like to take this opportunity to state our vigorous opposition to wiretaps or any other electronic means of monitoring private conversations. Of course, such things never happen in Canada.
Unfortunately, our suggestion that this column be retitled "Conversations We Imagine Could be Overheard on Bell Canada's Special Telephone Services If Anybody Was To Stoop So Low As To Listen" was objected to on the grounds that it didn't fit the pattern of the other titles of the stories in this series and, in any case, was much too long and unwieldy a title even for this writer. So, we'll let this title stand, but under extreme protest. Now, enjoy the column.)
"Hi, Bill. How are things in Vancouver?" "Actually, it's been pretty sunny for the past 10 minutes, but we've been warned to expect showers by the end of the hour. How are things in Montreal, Ogden?" "Not bad. Tim, that's my youngest, has been talking about forming a radical splinter group of the Partis Quebecois with some crazy 500 year plan to blast the province away from North American and float it across the Atlantic to France." "Wow! That is a pretty radical splinter!" "I suppose...but, my wife and I suspect he really intends to get a grant from the government and become a filmmaker." "Another Quebecois filmmaker? Do your kid a favour and tell him to stick with radical politics!" "Ha. So, listen, Bill, you want the usual order?" "Of course." "Always a pleasure doing business...so, looking forward to going to Expo?"
"Hello. This is Greta. Talk to me." "Well, I have this question..." "Don't be nervous. That's what we're here for. We're trained professionals." "Oh. Of course. I would expect nothing less." "If you'll just tell me what acts you are specifically interested in..." "Acts? I'm more interested in certain metaphysical issues..." "Oh. Yeah? Well, we have a couple of bright girls here. Maybe we can -" "Girls? Don't you have any men there?" "Men? Men! What kind of service do you think I run, here?" "Isn't this...isn't this the Hare Krishna Identity Crisis Hotline?" "Hell, no! This is Greta's Goodtimes Sexual Phone Amusements and Astrological Forecasts." "Oh...OH!" "You wanted 5629. This is 5626. Happens all the time." Oh...well...what sorts of things do you do again?"
"Hello, Grotty, The Magazine of Urban Disgust. Dave speaking." "Hi. I just saw your ad on television and I...umm, that is to say..." "Your calling for a subscription, right?" "Well, yes. How...?" "Just trying to speed things along. Now, with your subscription, did you want the "I hate the Sprawl" t-shirt or the mug with the picture of the small intestine on it?" "Oh, the t-shirt, please." "Fine. And, do you want the chintzy, one station mono radio in pea green with dark brown flecks or orange with purple streaks?" "Umm, can I have the...orange one with the purple streaks?" "No. We ran out of that colour two commercial breaks ago." "Oh. Then I'll definitely have the one with the...umm..." "Dark brown flecks. Good choice." "Thanks. But, uhh, don't you think you should get my name and address?" "Naah. We already know who you are and where you live. Oh, by the way, do you mind if we put your name on a mailing list so we can make big bucks off it by selling it to all sorts of people who want to send you junk mail?" "Yes." "Too bad. We're going to do it anyway." "Why did you ask?" "Just a formality..."
"...so, if you plant your seeds too far away from the surface, the shoots don't have a chance to reach the sunlight and grow into healthy, happy flowers." "Wow. Deep, man." "No. Not deep. That's just the point..." "It's just like a revolution..." "What? Gardening?" "Dig it, man." "Come on!" "Get off it!" "No, listen. If you don't get your ideas out to the People, if you keep them buried in the minds of intellectuals, the revolution will never have a chance to grow!" "Political solutions again!" "Haven't you gotten the idea that political solutions don't work?" "What about god?" "Oh, not you again!" "Boring!" "What does god have to do with fixing my muffler?" "Look, when I first phoned up 20 minutes ago, I thought I could start a meaningful discussion of the purpose of existence." "Couldn't we discuss the purpose of Vaseline, instead?" "Don't be vulgar!" "Poor baby. I've been listening for over an hour, and nobody wants to talk about why I always miss the bus at the stop down the street!" "But -" "It doesn't matter when I leave the house, either. The bus always pulls away from the stop just as I get there." "Don't you see? If god doesn't exist, it doesn't matter if you catch your bus or not!" "It still matter to me!" "But, a universe without god is like -" "A day without sunshine?" "A day without Anita Bryant!" "Peanut butter without jelly?" "The Captain without Tennile?" "A Minister without Portfolio!" "Men Without Hats!" "This isn't a conversation - it's verbal anarchy!" "Hey! It helps pass the time..."
"Hi there! This is Fiona's Fone Fun and Fantasy Service. All our lines are tied up at the moment, but if you'd like to leave your name, number and credit rating at the sound of tone, I'll be sure to have one of my girls get back to you. I'd also like to take this opportunity to remind you that it is illegal for minors to use this service, so, if you call, ensure that you are over 18." BEEP! "Goo...goo?"
