Lip Service.
For those of you who don't know anything about my job, I spend a lot of time on hold.

A weaker person would grow tired of the endless voicemails and assistant's assistants, but I love being on hold. It gives me time to write, daydream, and (most importantly) frequent all the networking websites I shouldn't be viewing at work.

Anyway, because my job started in mid-November, most of my calls were plagued with holiday-themed tunes, usually choir versions of "Silent Night" or some other beloved classic. Saucier companies endorsed "Santa Baby" or some variation of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," but most adhered to the favorites. However, now that the holidays are over, companies employ one of the following trends:

1) Adult Contemporary Hits, i.e. lots of Phil Collins, Bruce Springsteen (nothing harder than "Glory Days"), Harry Connick Jr.

2) Muzak, i.e. Casio's interpretation of songs that were once recognizable

3) Radio ads for the company, i.e. voice spots feeding you reasons to use Company X, reasons to remain on hold, etc.

Today, after a forgettable rendition of "Tunnel of Love," my usual perky phone persona was interrupted by a peculiarly offensive voice spot. While waiting to speak to the operator (again), the tire company causing me to obsessively refresh my MySpace page fed me this:

"PSSSHHHHBBBB. Do you know what that sound is? That's the sound of a blown tire. The sound of a cheap, blown tire. The sound of a cheap, Chinese tire that some dealer put on your car! That's the sound of a ruined day. Buy American. Buy ______."

After roughly 40 phone calls, I began to think that I was experiencing an auditory mirage of sorts. Did that guy really refer to that tire as "Chinese?" Did he really make that noise with his mouth? Didn't John make that sound at the beginning of "Come Together?" Or was it Paul? Would they have let Ringo do it?

The Veronica Mars inside me wanted to disguise my voice and call again to confirm my suspicions, but instead I started to giggle. Here I'd spent all day on the phone, dedicating no more than two minutes to conversations with actual people, and the only thing that made me smile was an embarassingly American, horribly xenophobic recording. I contemplated emailing my co-workers, but thought better of it and spoke with the receptionist on the other end. When I reached their Marketing department, I was relieved; not because I had finally reached my destination, but because our contact is out of the office and instructed me to please call back on Monday.