Posted on 07/16/2002 9:21:38 AM PDT by mikeb704
Modern technology is wondrous to behold. Even when it’s used for the most mundane of tasks.
Take, for example, the Rejection Hotline. Since prehistoric times - any year before 1992 - a man interested in a woman might well ask for her telephone number. If she weren’t interested in him, she would handle his request in one of several ways. She’d say she was already seeing someone else. She’d say she didn’t have a telephone. She’d say she’d be busy washing her hair or matching her socks. She’d give out the number Beechwood 4-5789. She’d say that between her job, school, her reservist obligation, caring for her elderly parents, working as a volunteer with the Girl Scouts, singing in the church choir, taking in laundry on the weekends, and helping her little brother with his newspaper route, she just didn’t have enough spare time to devote to a serious relationship.
If he persisted, she might be more direct. Saying something along the lines of, "Drop dead, creep" would usually end the advances of the most serious admirers. Not, of course, that that ever happened to me. Not more than a few (dozen) times anyway.
With modern tools, all that has changed. When a man’s interested in a woman, or a woman’s interested in a man, or a man’s interested in a man – well, you know all the possible permutations in this increasingly open, diverse and pluralistic society – there’s an easier way.
No longer must a shallow, obviously bogus, story be made up. No longer does the object of affection need to be truthfully blunt.
None of that’s necessary because in Chicago and dozens of other cities, the Rejection Hotline is available. Just smile, give the individual the Hotline’s number (312-458-9650) – as your own, and forget about any more annoyances. From that person, anyway.
For when admirers call, they will be told you gave them the Rejection Hotline number because you aren’t attracted to them. That’s wounding enough, but then the cruelty really kicks in.
The man’s voice tells callers that they were possibly rejected because they’re short, fat, ugly, dumb, annoying, arrogant or the ever popular just a general loser. Then again, it could be because they have bad breath, body odor or maybe even both. Or perhaps it’s because of that creepy overbearing stalker vibe they’re emitting.
Callers are then referred to the Rejection Hotline’s web site, where they can order customized rejection business cards with phony info printed on them. Then they can play the same trick on anyone who asks for their number. There are 28 styles from which to choose and the cards cost a mere $19.95 for 250 opportunities to be rude.
There’s also a recommendation you visit ChicagoSinglesClub.Com for a romantic adventure. Go there and you’ll be advised: "One thing we will tell you before you start...with the fun, high-quality group of singles at our site, dating is always a good time and finding your match is even better."
And what eligible individual isn’t looking for a fun, high-quality group of singles? That sounds pretty good until you remember how you got to this web site to begin with.
It’s because you’re short, fat, ugly, dumb, annoying, arrogant or just a general loser. Then again, it could be because you have bad breath, body odor or maybe even both. Or perhaps it’s because of that creepy overbearing stalker vibe you’re emitting. So precisely what sort of fun, high-quality group of singles are they talking about here?
I’m just very glad my dating days are long over. Those toll calls to Chicago can get expensive.
BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!...oh man, am I old or what?!
FMCDH
BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!...oh man, am I old or what?!
I must not be old enough because that went way over my head.
Dirty deeds done dirt cheap.
She'd write down the number and tell the sap the only phone calls she liked were dirty ones, and to never ever call her before 11PM.
Hard to shake, even after all these years.
I've been accused of being a sexist - not to mention many other things - before. But you've got to get the spelling straight if you want to be non-sexist: It's w-o-m-y-n.
Funny how some of that stuff - not to mention those little voices - just won't leave. Generally, I suffer from Irish Alzheimer's. I've forgotten everything but the grudges.
Thanks.
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