Summoning the demon with the IMs of Doom

I call them the IMs of Doom. The ones that prompt an in-person phone call or meeting.

Why these people insist on using IM to CIRCUMVENT the technology remains beyond me.

I especially abhor the ones that fetch me. Like a friggin’ puppy summoned for the anti-treat. You, peasant, get on your busted foot and come for your lashing.

I guess it beats the “Can I call ya?” Ya doesn’t like the phone, either. Excuse me while I go hobble to the coffee pot and pretend I didn’t see it.

Probably everyone knows when I’m asked if I have a moment to chat. I don’t even muffle the reflexive “Jesus Christ!” anymore. Maybe I never did. Ask me whatever you want to ask me and save me the trip, please.

In any event, I got one late yesterday and had my quick mental meltdown. Stomped my way to wherever I needed to be … and actually had a pleasant time.


Maybe there’s hope yet for this unnecessary experiment after all.

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