When was the last time you called a business, any business, and got a human on the other end of the line?

The first thing you hear is one of those disgusting, recorded, fake voices saying, “Thank you for calling The (blank) Business.”

This immediately tells you that a call that was going to take two minutes is now a call that is going to take a half-hour as you press “1” if you want to speak in English, or “2” if you want to speak in Spanish, or “27” if you want to speak in Swahili, or “63” if you want to speak in Khoisan, which is a Bushman language where you only make clicking sounds.

The other thing that frosts me is when the fake voice says, “Your call means a lot to us—please stay on the line.”

Well, if my call means so much to them why don’t they hire a human and give me a direct answer?

We’re in a recession. Wouldn’t it be wise to hire humans to answer the phones? The cost of paying them will be easily offset by the number of people who will stay on the line and actually buy something.

A few years ago my oil burner was making hissing noises and there was a smell of oil all through our house.

Naturally, I did what I usually do under these circumstances. I panicked.

I think being cool in an emergency is overrated. Real men know what to do when the going gets tough—they whine to their wives.

“Call somebody,” I said to my wife, The Beautiful Judy Licht.

“Whom shall I call?” asked Judy, fixing a look on me like Alice Kramden used to give Ralph Kramden on The Honeymooners when he was panicking in an emergency.

“Call the gas people . . . the oil people . . . the fire department!”

“Calm down,” said Judy, in that way that wives say “Calm down” when you know what they’re thinking is, “Why did I ever marry this idiot?”

“Why don’t you just call Schenck,” she said.

“Skank? Skank? Who’s Skank?” I replied.

“They are our oil people.”

“We have oil people?”

“Just call.”

So I dialed information and got a recorded voice.  “What city or state?” asked the recorded voice.

To which I said, “What er, er, I . . . I . . . I want . . .”

That was enough for the recorded voice to make this whirring sound that tells you it’s going on a wild goose chase.
The recorded voice came back and said, “That’s Waterloo, Iowa, right?”

“No, you idiot!” I screamed.

The fake voice replied, “Sorry, I didn’t get that.”

“LIVE OPERATOR. I must speak to a LIVE OPERATOR. PLEASE . . . PLEASE!” I screamed. Then I wondered, “Why am I saying please to a recorded voice?”

Finally a real person got on. Clearly she had been listening. They all listen and secretly laugh as the recorded voice drives you mad.

“Operator, may I help you?” she asked.

“Skank! Skank!” I screamed.

“What did you say?” she said, sounding hurt.

“I want Skank. S-K-A-N-K!”

Judy, who’d been listening, amused, said, “It’s spelled, S-C-H-E-N-C-K!”

Finally, I got the number, only to get a recorded voice saying, “Welcome to Schenck Fuel Services.” Then the recorded voice rattled off eight numbers I could press to reach the right extension.

Apparently the world has been taken over by recorded voices. It would be hours before I could find a way to talk to a human. I hung up the phone in disgust. I looked at Judy and said, “Actually, I’m getting used to the smell.”

She laughed.

The recorded voices had won.

We went to dinner. The smell was gone when we returned.

FAIRNESS NOTE: After I finished this column today I decided to check on my facts, so I dialed Schenck Fuel and guess what? A live person answered the phone. “I LOVE YOU,” I said, and hung up.

If you wish to comment on “Jerry’s Ink,” send your message to jerry@dfjp.com.