Can you please mute that?

Yesterday, at work, I answered a customer service call from a member named “Mary.” She requested a list of three or four electricians she could call for a renovation project.

Mary was difficult to talk with. She kept interrupting me, she kept telling me to slow down no matter how slowly I talked, and she wouldn’t listen when I tried to answer the millions of questions she shot at me.

“What’s that company’s name?” she whined to me.

“‘XYZ Company’,” I answered.

“Slow down, now. Say it again?”

“X…………….Y…………….Z……………..Com…..pan….y,” I repeated.

“And what’s their phone number?”

“1…800…555– do you have that so far?” I asked.

“No.”

“Ok, 1….8–“

“No, wait a minute. I can’t write right now.”

“Ok?” (Why couldn’t she write when she had just recorded info for two other companies one minute ago?)

“Hang on,” she said.

Then I heard something. Running water? Garden hose? Shower?

“Should I continue the phone number now?” I asked a few seconds later.

“Not yet,” she replied. “I’m peeing.”

“WHAT????” I thought. I sat there, in silence, listening to her urinate for about 25,000 minutes. Maybe fewer. It was hard to judge the time. At one point, I caught myself holding my breath, as if I was in the bathroom next to her or something.

I kind of was.

Yuuuuuuuuuck.