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True Confessions of a Robo-Caller, Ctd.

A local lady sent me an email in response to this post. She didn’t want to post her children’s phone numbers on the blog, but she said I could call them if I wanted to. She said she was “keeping my fingers crossed these two twentysomethings will heed their parents’ example and encouragement to actually vote.” I couldn’t reach her daughter. But I got her son. Here’s how our conversation went:

P.P.: “Hello?”

ME: “Is this P.P.?”

P.P.: “Yeah.”

ME: “Hi, this is Tim Rogers. I’m the editor of D Magazine, and your mother wants you to vote today.”

P.P.: “What?”

ME: “Your mother? S.P.? She wants you to vote.”

P.P.: “So why are you calling me? She already told me that.”

ME: “Because it’s important that you cast your ballot, let your voice be heard.”

P.P.: “Whatever.”

I’m going to mark him down as “undecided.”

  • Zac Crain

    P.P. set his phone down, and turned back to his pillow, ready to continue his nap, now in its 13th hour. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t escape the odd voice he’d just heard — so obnoxiously confident, obviously from Irish descent, probably friends with an exceptionally handsome younger man with a beard that could cut glass.

    He rolled over on his back, pulling the pillow over his face. “Because it’s important that you cast your ballot, let your voice be heard.” It wouldn’t end, this over-loud tumble of words, clearly issuing from someone who likes to talk, and likes others to hear him talk. Someone proud of his own voice, for whatever reason.

    P.P. got out of bed. He was still wearing last night’s clothes. He pulled on his shoes, and took a quick look in the mirror. He let out a long sigh. “Okay, fine.”

    It was time to get some pizza.

  • Zac Crain

    P.P. set his phone down, and turned back to his pillow, ready to continue his nap, now in its 13th hour. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t escape the odd voice he’d just heard — so obnoxiously confident, obviously from Irish descent, probably belonging to someone who is friends with an exceptionally handsome younger man with a beard that could cut glass.

    He rolled over on his back, pulling the pillow over his face. “Because it’s important that you cast your ballot, let your voice be heard.” It wouldn’t end, this over-loud tumble of words, clearly issuing from someone who likes to talk, and likes others to hear him talk. Someone proud of his own voice, for whatever reason.

    P.P. got out of bed. He was still wearing last night’s clothes. He pulled on his shoes, and took a quick look in the mirror. He let out a long sigh. “Okay, fine.”

    It was time to get some pizza.

  • Mom

    Success! Just got this text from P.P., “There, voting is done.” Even I’m surprised at the immediacy of your impact. Many thanks!

  • RAB

    I’m sure he voted the wrong way, though. Thanks, Tim.

  • Preston Pettit

    Yeah um… I am P.P.
    … And that’s not what I said. I actually went and voted too, and I did it the right way.