The phone rings nonstop in the newsroom. Even as I type, the phone is blaring it’s annoying jingle in my ear begging me to pick it up to cease the noise that rips away at my ear drums.
OK, obviously that is a little over dramatic, but that ringing – it just gets to me.
Our secretary is out, so of course the duty of picking up the phone falls on the part-time employees in the newsroom and the two cop reporters — don’t ask me why but everyone else acts like they don’t even hear the ringing. So along with the assistants, the two most recent hires do all the talking.
Most of the time I like talking to people. Even my extraordinarily long list of cop calls is fine. I like chatting, hearing about people’s days and wishing them a good rest of the day.
But when you pick up the main line you never know what you’ll get.
Today alone I had a woman yell at me because the theater she wanted to see a movie in was not listed in the paper, a man called asking for directions and another man called to complain about … well about everything.
In a job that people view as the “watch dogs of society” I expect to sometimes talk with people who are less than pleased, but when I get yelled at because someone can’t find the sports score they’re looking for it just feels wrong.
To divulge even further on my rant of people calling the paper, some of them don’t let you get a word in while they go on and on over whatever is annoying them. Then when they’re done, I have to tell them that I am merely the person directing phone traffic and I have to send them else where.
I never before answered the phones, at my old job the boss turned off the ringers so we could hear the scanner and focus on writing. So the world of the crazy people who call the paper is a bizarre one to me.
Everyday, I am surprised by who is talking on the other line. But today, I just want them to leave me alone.