Patience is a virtue

Writing Prompt from Writing Excuses - Season 01 - Episode 21 - Humor

Try to write something funny in which profanity—expletives—the hardest profanity you can think of would be completely appropriate but it doesn’t happen.

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RING.

Alright Martha, you will try once more today. If this doesn’t work, then Jeff will have to take over speaking with these people.

"Hello! Welcome to our 24-hour helpline, please make a note that our options have changed."

They haven’t changed in the past two months that I’ve been calling.

"For claims inquiries, please say claims.”

“Claims.”

There, that should be nice and clear.

“For poli- I’m sorry, I couldn’t understand that. Please repeat your selection. For claims inquiries, please say claims.”

Take a deep breath, Martha, it’s just a machine. It’s not worth getting upset about.

“Claims.”

“For policie- I’m sorry, I couldn’t understand that. Would you like to speak to a service representative?”

One, two, three…. Breathe in. Breathe out, Martha.

“Yes.”

“If you’d like to speak- I’m sorry, I couldn’t understand that. Would you like to speak to a service representative?”

“YES.”

No need to shout. Sigh. One, two, three… The kids are noticing.

“Thank you, I will connect you with a service representative. Your approximate wait time is: Twenty. Two. Minutes. If you would like to leave a telephone number for callback, please say call back. You will not lose your place in line.”

I’m not falling for that one again.

“If you would like to wait, please say remain on the line.”

“Remain on the line.”

“Thank you for waiting. Your call is very important. Our service representative will be with you in approximately: Twenty. One. Minutes. Please remain on the line.”

Let me connect the headphones so these little monsters don’t think I’m distracted. It’s bad enough they see me using my phone in class.

“Miss Hoover?”

Of course, it would have to be Annie. Little brat. Probably about to whine some more about Bradley taking her crayons in that little sing-along voice that makes me want to slap her.

“Yes, dear?”

“Brad keeps taking my crayons.”

Of course he does, sweetheart, because you leave them out on the desk and let them roll all around while you’re picking your nose. I’d actually prefer him to have them, you know? Bradley actually draws coherent pictures for a four-year-old. Unlike the Picasso/Pollock mishmashes of “bunnies and ponies” that you do. Every. Single. Day.

“Bradley, did you take Annie’s crayons?”

“She wasn’t using ‘em!”

Oh dear child. You’re just a different sort of brat, aren’t you?

“That doesn’t matter, dear. They’re hers, please give them back.”

“But I’m almost done!”

One, two, three…

“Bradley…”

And of course now he throws them at her. He really is a little snot. Smart, though. He already knows he’s in trouble and gets up to go sit in the time out space without me having to tell him. He probably thinks it was worth it just to see the stricken expression on Annie’s face.

“Thank you for waiting. Your call is very important. Our service representative will be with you in approximately: Eighteen. Minutes. Please remain on the line.”

At least Annie didn’t cry. What a pleasant surprise. Was my Deirdre ever this annoying? Probably, but twenty years tends to dull the bad memories and leave the fond ones.

“He broke one…” 

Oh, dear Lord above. I spoke to soon. Here come the waterworks. It was just the tip you little wretch. Here, I peeled back the paper for you. There. Stop crying.

“Just calm down, honey. It’s fine, you can still use it.”

“But…”

“It was the white crayon, Annie, are you trying to create any particular tone in the color spectrum you can’t achieve with the ones you have?”

That shut her up but I really shouldn’t snap. Kids these days are so entitled. They’ll go crying to their parents over any little thing. Mrs. Hover was mean. Mrs. Hoover made me eat my vegetables. Mrs. Hoover looked at me funny. Best to just ignore the look of bewilderment on the little imp’s face.

Bradley snickered, the little terror. He’s adorable when he’s quiet, or actively engaged in something, but every other time I could just throttle him. He shuts up real quick when I turn to him, though. He still knows I can give him worse than a timeout. Every child is scared of Principal Mathers.

Silence again. Just the scratches of crayons on paper. We really should have more times like these during the day.

“Thank you for waiting. Your call is very important. Our service representative will be with you in approximately: Twelve. Minutes. Please remain on the line.”

I hate this chair. I feel as if every time I’m going to sit down I’m going to fall and break a hip. That’s just what we needed! Another cripple in the house. Bad enough that Jeff had to be on his back for another month.

“Hello, good afternoon. This is Chris, how may I help you today?”

I hate that I get excited about such a stupid thing as waiting less time than I thought, but whatever.

“Hello Chris, I need to check on the status of a claim.”

“Absolutely, may I have your name and the claim number please?”

Every time.

“Martha Hoover, claim number AX-89341.”

“Thank you very much Ms. Hoover, please allow me to pull your information.”

Typing. Why do they type so much? There’s no way that those thirty five taps were the claim code. They should have my phone on file, anyway. Like my car company. They always answer the phone by calling me Mrs. Hoover.

“Thank you for holding Ms. Hoover. I show that the claim is still under revision, pending the validation of the supporting information.”

Not again. Not again.

“We sent the pictures and the x-rays months ago. Then you asked for a doctor’s report. Then the EMT report. I don’t understand what more you want from us?”

I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to scream again.

“I apologize Ms. Hoover-“

“MRS.”

Okay, maybe I was going to shout a little.

“Mrs. Hoover. Please let me connect you with one of our supervisors. It’ll be just a moment.”

Not another two months, for crying out loud. I hate this music! Look away kids. It’s amazing how a good glare can be so effective. It took years of working on mine.

I better walk around some more. Tommy’s drawing his spaceships again. Nancy is drawing a… butterfly elephant? Peter is drawing a horse and a… Dear Lord above!

“Peter! What are you drawing?”

“It’s my daddy’s show.” He looks terrified, but I don’t really care right now.

“What show?”

“On the ‘mputer.”

Oh sweet merciful Lord. “Let me take that, dear. Why don’t you draw a different picture?”

I’ll have to put this in his file, again. The next PTA meeting is going to be a doozy.

“Hello Mrs. Hoover? This is Samuel Watters, I do need to advise you that this conversation is being recorded.”

Of course it is. Let me go by the window in case I have to scream at these people again.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

I am a sea of calmness. An ocean of serenity.

“Mrs. Hoover, we did receive the reports and just needed to confirm some… uh… details of the… umm… incident.”

Right.

“What’s the problem?” I will not let them get me riled up.

“Could you confirm your date of birth for me, please?”

“September 21st, 1953.”

“I see. Thank you. And your husband, Mr. Hoover?”

“Mr. Hoover died seven years ago. The man on my policy is Jeffrey Malone, my second husband.”

“Oh yes, I apologize. Could you confirm his date of birth as well, please?”

This again. This was the stumbling block. One, two, three…

“April 4^th, 1976.”

Was that muted laughter? They better not be laughing. It’s probably in my head.

“Thank you Mrs. Hoover. And the… incident… occurred when?”

Keep calm. Soothing voice. Use your words, Martha.

“You know damn well when it happened, you have all of the records and you have the accounts from the doctors. It happened on February 1^st, our anniversary. Yes, we were celebrating and yes I broke my husband’s penis.”

They were definitely laughing. I know it.  

“I apologize Mrs. Hoover, we really needed to confirm the… facts for our records. We will get that check mailed out to you as soon as possible.”

I’m not going to throw the phone against the wall. I’m not going to curse them out again.

“Yes. Please do.”

More coughing. Damn them. Whatever. As long as they send that check.

“Mrs. Hoover?”

What’s Bradley doing behind me? Why does he have that look of horror on his face?

“Did you really break your husband’s pee-pee?”

Oh….. FUDGE!