Motherhood Martyrdom & Costco Runs by Whitney Dineen

Author:Whitney Dineen [Dineen, Whitney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 33 Partners Publishing
Published: 2017-05-15T07:00:00+00:00

I’m Sorry, What?

I have absolutely no ear for accents, none, zero, zip. Unless you have a perfectly flat, boring Midwestern accent, I’ll probably ask you to repeat yourself, repeatedly. My worst nightmare is getting stuck on the phone with Microsoft. Every single one of their customer service operators seems to be Indian. I’m in no way anti-Indian, it’s just that I have no idea what they’re saying. A typical conversation goes something like this:

Microsoft Personnel, Bob: Hello Wheatknee. How can I help you, Wheatknee?

Me: Well, Bob, it’s like this. I keep getting a notice I have a virus and I need you to check and see if that’s true.

Bob: Yes, doodly doodly doodly doo, Wheatknee.

Me: Excuse me, what?

Bob: Akbar, junkdoo, doodly, remote access, alacazam, Wheatknee?

Me: Um, yes, that would be fine.

Bob: Sidhartha doodly dingly dung, Wheatknee. Okay, Wheatknee?

Me: Um, yes, sure, Bob.

It’s excruciating. By the time all is said and done, Bob may have charged me seventy-five dollars or three thousand, I have no idea. All I know is he took remote access of my computer and fooled around for forty-five minutes. He may have downloaded every last file I have or stolen my PayPal password, but whatever he did, I’m just so darn happy to be off the phone with him I could dance.

Conversely, my daughters are fascinated by accents and are enthralled every time they hear one. Fireman Sam used to be one of their favorite programs based solely on the accents. That’s not really true. It was a cute show, but the accent played a large part in their enjoyment.

My older daughter, Margery, likes to crank call me using her father’s cell phone. I’ll be working on the computer in the office and she’ll be in my room, across the hall, pretending to be Baguette Eiffel Tower calling from France to sell me her new line of pink luggage. There are squeals of laughter from her sister and she tries to explain why, “Zis ees zee most prrrrrrrrrrfect lewgage in zee vorld! You must needs have eet!” Her French is a hybrid of French, Russian, and Glasgow.

Sometimes the girls pretend to be servants calling from London. They understand I’ve been on the lookout for a robot maid and since robot maids haven’t been invented yet, perhaps I’d like to hire them at a mere six thousand dollars an hour.

Sometimes they call and sing to me in a faux pig Latin opera. I have no idea what those calls are about. All I know is they hurt my head something fierce.

One of the agents at my old modeling agency was French. His name was Jean Claude and he was a very nice guy. But Jean Claude often got tired of my asking him to repeat the information about my bookings, so he would transfer me to Nell, whom I understood immediately. She was from Indiana.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy accents. I do. I find some of them very musical and often pleasant to listen to. I especially love the sound of certain languages, particularly Yiddish.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.