Let me level with you. Half the time when people are talking to me I probably don’t hear you. I have what my mom calls “selective hearing” which she made seem like a bad thing when I didn’t hear her demand I do the dishes before she got home from work or clean my room aka shove Barbie and her entire family under my bed. There’s a difference between hearing someone and listening. Example: I hear white noise when you try to explain to me why Twitter is so much better than Facebook. I listen when you tell me a story that ends with you losing your dignity via public urination after a fun-filled evening. 

Selective hearing is one of the reasons I hate talking on the phone. If what you’re saying on the phone can’t be summed up in a text, I probably don’t need the verbal Anna Karenina version. It takes a lot of concentration for me to actually listen to what you’re saying and not let it translate into white noise while I give myself a manicure or update my Facebook status. To me a phone call has three purposes.

Purpose one: You have a severe head injury and are a) not impaired enough to call me before 9-1-1 and b) have no immediate family who is willing to assist you. Calling me in an emergency is a bad idea for several reasons one of which is because my attention span is so short that in between the time you manage to slur out that you have cracked your skull in a 6-car pile up and the time we hang up, I’ve already forgotten what has happened to you and more importantly have forgotten to call 9-1-1. Also, I turn my phone off every night as to not be disturbed. Since 67% of traumatic head injuries happen between 10pm-7am I wouldn’t be of any assistance anyway because I’d be in my bed not getting brain damage. Please note that this phone call is limited to head injuries and no other bodily harm. Don’t call me and tell me you’re bleeding from the eyes. It may encompass a head injury but I’ll assume you have ebola since that’s one of the symptoms. Broken arm? Newspaper, water and flour will get you a temporary cast (think pinata) while you wait for the ambulance. Dog bite? Raw steaks will shift the attention from you while you fashion a tourniquet to prevent the rest of your body from becoming infected with rabies. Whiplash from a fender bender? Estimate the worth of the car before you decide to fall on the ground and feign a slipped disc. And if you’re an opportunist like myself, you’ll be glad you called the ambulance because there’s a good chance the paramedic nursing you back to health is a hot one. So unless you’ve shit your pants during your emergency, work a positive angle and get a date out of this experience. You’re welcome in advance. (Remember, they’ve seen worse, so you shitting your pants may be something they can overlook).

Purpose two: You are having an emotional meltdown. As time-consuming as these calls can be, you don’t want to be the person who is labeled “the friend who didn’t call so-and-so back before she left a poorly crafted suicide note and took a bottle of Quaaludes.” (Yes, in my hypothetical situation I’m mentioned in the suicide note so everyone knows what a bad friend I am). So instead of risking an embarrassing label for life, I take these calls and in these cases I give selective listening a rest. I provide feedback where needed, give advice when asked and then usually extend an offer for an immediate joint excursion in which I show this individual how to drown their emotions in a healthy combination of carbohydrates, butter and sugar. Everybody wins. Most times when someone calls in this case, they just need someone to hear the thoughts they haven’t said out loud yet. 

Purpose three: My car has decided to breakdown in the most inconvenient place in the road and embarrass me by causing a news-worthy traffic jam. So this has only happened once, on the 10 freeway in Los Angeles and this was truly classified as an emergency. I’d not only broken down on an off-ramp, but it was Monday. It’s bad enough it’s a Monday, but your LA commute compounded with extra traffic on top of traffic due to a 1991 Toyota Corolla who just decided “life, I’ve had enough!” Monday somehow gets worse. My current car has been so good to me and despite the fact that the paint has all but peeled off the hood, the pigeons outside of my work won’t stop using it as a litterbox and its constant myriad of problems which are the human equivalent of end-stage renal failure, I still love my car. It fits into spaces that newer Corollas fantasize about fitting into, it still blasts cold a/c (after about 15 minutes of driving, but cold nonetheless!), and I’ve essentially driven it half of my driving life. Its taken me to, from and through college and has lived through my crash course in defensive and passive/aggressive driving on the 405, 101 and 10 freeways. In the case that it does decide to take a well-deserved nap on the freeway, I use my phone to call AAA. THat being said, if I waste a lot of battery letting you chat me up about what a hot tranny mess Khloe Kardashian is (an argument that should be saved for texts  anyway because at least if it got good we could send it to TFLN), you’ve essentially stranded me on the freeway.

I value written communication because it’s the way I communicate best, so me not liking phone conversations is my close-minded way of saying, “I communicate well in writing, why don’t you?” Also, like I said before it takes a lot for me to not turn your voice into waves crashing on the beach. BUT. Although I may not listen to you when your voice is making the transition from human to noisemaker, I NEVER mishear anything. The thing about weirdoes like myself is that when we do listen, everything is crystal clear and pretty much can’t be disputed. I’m a people watcher and just as much as I’m good at reading and observing individuals, I don’t miss a beat when it comes to cueing in on the essence of a conversation. Whether or not you think I interpret your verbal vomit correctly or not is subjective. I may not listen to what you’re saying, but I will never mishear what you say. 

When it comes to dateable types of men, I consider myself an equal-opportunist, I don’t discriminate*. The same goes for phone calls, I don’t discriminate. So when your call gets forwarded to my very pleasant voicemail, remember that I believe in equality and I’m equally offensive to everyone who has gone through the steps of scrolling through their phone book and hitting “call” hoping to connect with me on the other end. 

Also, I don’t have telepathy, so you might have called and decided to take the Russian Roulette route by not leaving a voicemail. Your missed call+no voicemail message=me not sure whether you’re calling to report you’ve suffered a stroke and need a ride to the hospital or you calling to share that you spilled mixed berry yogurt on your favorite pants. No voicemail makes an emergency and non-emergency equal. Equally unimportant, so much so that you decided not to leave a message and ask me to call you back. I will never, ever return a phone call that is not followed up with a voicemail.

Does my lack of phone etiquette and admitting that I’m not listening to you make me a bad person? Probably. But wouldn’t you rather have the courtesy of knowing that I’m probably not listening to you rather than asking me to recap an obscure conversation I may not have catalogued in the tape recorder part of my brain? Remember, two things: I may not hear what you say, but I never mishear what you said and I soak up what’s important. If selective hearing is a crime, then put me in jail and sentence me for life. 

In a nutshell, most of this may have been a slight over-exaggeration, but your take away is that I listen when it’s important. 

*To clarify, I mean looks-wise. I discriminate against men who don’t work, don’t drive and/or have children/baby mama situation(s). Standards are important when you’d like to own a home and a German luxury vehicle.