Click Tone
by mcnellism
Click. Jeff was far too used to that sound. The sound of a disconnected phone call. The sound before the ever-judgmental dial tone that seemed to mock him. The dial tone that seemed to say, “You’re only listening to this annoying note because you are not worth dating.”
Jeff Alberg was thirty-two years old, and living in New York. He was a graphic designer—he rented an expensive loft and was revered among his coworkers for being the guy that could get away with not wearing a button down shirt to work every day. Jeff was allowed to wear tee shirts…nobody cared, after all, Jeff worked behind the scenes. High profile customers came to Ad to Profit, Inc to have their logos designed.
They met with high-powered executives. They told the high-powered executives that they wanted a new, hip look. They said other things too, but nothing of any substance. On average, Jeff designed over twenty “new, hip look” logos per week. His designs almost never bounced back because the customers liked his quirky approach to their businesses.
The customers confused quirky with new and hip. So did the rest of New York, Jeff thought to himself as he saw one of his designs on an ad that was currently being run on the subway. He had just folded up his Motorola RAZR, the new, hip phone that his company purchased for all its full time employees. He had just heard that click, the telephone sound of rejection. This time he’d managed to close the phone before hearing the dial tone.
And now, the ad that reminded him most of this most recent rejection was staring him in the face. The ad in question featured a simple but attractive design, ordered by a marketing firm. The woman who had just hung up on Jeff worked for said firm. He’d met her briefly, and thought for a moment that she didn’t buy into the envy that floated about for him, that she didn’t care that he was wearing a faded tee shirt featuring one of his favorite bands.
Apparently she didn’t care what he was wearing. She didn’t care to speak to him unless it was about business. He’d wanted to forget their brief conversation, but the ad was glaring at him, forcing him to relive it. He’d called, introduced himself, asked how she was. He’d listened to her one word response: busy. Jeff had then mustered up the courage to ask her out for drinks. Was that not the proper first date? Had he spoken to quickly? Had he insulted her? Non-affirmative on all counts. She simply did not date business associates.
But Jeff wasn’t one of the executives. He didn’t consider himself a business associate to Grace. Jeff’s face registered a light scowl…for a woman named Grace, she wasn’t very graceful. At least not on the telephone. She’d hung up on him after she’d rejected him. Click.
Jeff Alberg was thirty-two years old, and living in New York. He was a graphic designer—he rented an expensive loft and was revered among his coworkers for being the guy that could get away with not wearing a button down shirt to work every day. Jeff was allowed to wear tee shirts…nobody cared, after all, Jeff worked behind the scenes. High profile customers came to Ad to Profit, Inc to have their logos designed.
They met with high-powered executives. They told the high-powered executives that they wanted a new, hip look. They said other things too, but nothing of any substance. On average, Jeff designed over twenty “new, hip look” logos per week. His designs almost never bounced back because the customers liked his quirky approach to their businesses.
The customers confused quirky with new and hip. So did the rest of New York, Jeff thought to himself as he saw one of his designs on an ad that was currently being run on the subway. He had just folded up his Motorola RAZR, the new, hip phone that his company purchased for all its full time employees. He had just heard that click, the telephone sound of rejection. This time he’d managed to close the phone before hearing the dial tone.
And now, the ad that reminded him most of this most recent rejection was staring him in the face. The ad in question featured a simple but attractive design, ordered by a marketing firm. The woman who had just hung up on Jeff worked for said firm. He’d met her briefly, and thought for a moment that she didn’t buy into the envy that floated about for him, that she didn’t care that he was wearing a faded tee shirt featuring one of his favorite bands.
Apparently she didn’t care what he was wearing. She didn’t care to speak to him unless it was about business. He’d wanted to forget their brief conversation, but the ad was glaring at him, forcing him to relive it. He’d called, introduced himself, asked how she was. He’d listened to her one word response: busy. Jeff had then mustered up the courage to ask her out for drinks. Was that not the proper first date? Had he spoken to quickly? Had he insulted her? Non-affirmative on all counts. She simply did not date business associates.
But Jeff wasn’t one of the executives. He didn’t consider himself a business associate to Grace. Jeff’s face registered a light scowl…for a woman named Grace, she wasn’t very graceful. At least not on the telephone. She’d hung up on him after she’d rejected him. Click.
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