A telemarketer called me up at eight o’clock this morning. Right after I answered the phone, she asked, “Uh…who is this?” First of all, if a telemarketer calls me at 8AM, then that’s already grounds for homicide. But not only did she call me, she was also so disorganized that she didn’t even know who the hell she was talking to! Normally, I would say something along the lines of, “If you can’t figure that out, then you shouldn’t be calling me,” or “I hope you die of syphilis,” and then I would hang up. But since I haven’t taken my medication in a few days, I said, “Who am I? I am a cog in a vast machine!”
I don’t know what I meant by that. Like I said, I stopped taking my medication. It sounded good though, so I pressed on, delivering the following rant, which was completely improvisational:
“I am a cautionary tale! I am the calm before the storm! I am a naysayer, a muckraker, a whistle blower, a watchdog, this generation’s Thomas Paine! I am also, with the exception of Abbie Hoffmann, the only revolutionary referred to as ‘cute.’
She tried to interject. “Sir?”
I wasn’t done.
“I am the master of my own puzzle, but a select few are controlling the pieces!”
“I am here for your sick amusement! If this were India, I would be an Untouchable, all my work benefiting those above me! If this were Ancient Rome, I would be Valeria, used as Shapur’s human footstool! I am Daedalus, my wings scorched after flying too close to the sun!”
“I am the mirror to your basilisk! I am the whole that is greater than the sum of its parts! I am–”
She hung up on me.
At least she knows who I am.
August 26, 2008