Nature calling?

I am one of those weird people who just absolutely hate telephones.  I hate ringing up people, and I hate answering a phone.  It doesn’t matter whether it’s a landline or a mobile – I don’t wanna talk.  My wife says talking to me on the phone is like talking to a rock. 

I’ll send off thousands of emails to anyone who is not interested.  If you email me, you will get a response.  What I hate, is when people don’t respond to my emails.  That’s just plain rude.

But try ringing me, and chances are good I won’t even answer.  I do like mobile phones because they can tell me who's calling – now I know for certain that I don’t want to pick up the phone.  I just love that “silence” button – or better yet, the red one.

But some people are the exact opposite.  Some really go off the deep end with the way they abuse the privilege of being able to use Alexander Graham Bell’s invention to it’s full extent.

The other day at work, I was busy washing my hands in the men’s room.  I heard this guy’s phone ringing inside his “cubicle”.  He actually answered it in there.  He started yapping away, like he was sitting on his couch at home or something.  And then, believe it or not, I heard him flushing the toilet – still talking happily while he was doing it, of course. 

It got worse.

He exited his cubicle, and went on to wash his hands – still yapping away without a care in the world.  He moved along to the paper towel dispenser, and somehow managed to dry off his hands while discussing some serious topic.

He finally walked out of the men’s room – still yapping.

Now this is totally uncool.  In the first place, how the hell can we be sure he really washed his hands decently?  Yuck, I don’t even want to think about it. 

I hate germs and anything unhygienic.  These blokes who just fire up their barbies with last week’s fat and oil still lying there give me the creeps.  I saw one bloke who had a garden snail on his barbie – this thing walked all over the barbeque and left a nice shiny trail all over the grill.  This bloke took his BBQ thong, grabbed hold of Mr. Snail, and chucked the old squirming snail into the bin.

He then grabbed a piece of meat and a few sausages, threw them onto the barbie, and with that same snail-removal thong he continued to turn around his meat and sausages.

Needless to say I wasn’t very hungry.

If my phone rings in the WC, you won’t find me answering it.  I know where the red button is.