Voice Mail Is Dead To Me

'My name is Yoshi. How can I assist you today,' the young girl on the other end asked. I'd called Verizon to request voice mail be removed from my account.

'Uhh...I don't think we can do that,' she said after a few minutes.

I was prepared.

'You know how people traveling overseas have their voice mail temporarily deactivated to prevent roaming charges? Well, that's what I want, except I'm not traveling overseas and I don't want it forever.'

'I'm going to have to transfer you to someone else. I've never had this type of request before.'

Of course you haven't, Yoshi. Most people would never admit to possessing that level of laziness.

I was inspired by this stroke of genius after my friend Tammy mentioned she couldn't leave her husband a message because his voice mail wasn't working. I'd been staring at 14 unheard voice mail messages for two days and they were causing me significant anxiety.

Yoshi transferred me to Technical Expert, Matt who confirmed my request and deactivated my voice mail. I felt instant liberation.

After tackling a Sam's-Club-quantity amount of messages and, discovering none of them involved blood of a loved one or money, I realized those closest to me were attempting to pawn off the responsibility of communicating.

My mother's messaging crimes were worse. She labors under impression that longer, detailed messages are preferred to short, concise ones.

An example:

'Kimberly...this is your mother. Your daddy and I were thinking about having a fish fry this weekend and wanted to know if Friday or Saturday would work best. Keith said he'll bring the fish if we can provide the sides. I'm going to make homemade french fries, fried onions and a salad. Ashley's going to bring Cole slaw and spinach dip. Melissa said she's going to make some beans but I told her she didn't need to worry about that because your brother is bringing so much fish.  He's going to bring the fryer over this evening so your daddy can help him unload it.  I might even make that homemade dill tarter sauce you kids like so well. If you could bring the ice, paper plates, cups and utensils that would be good. So just give me a call when you get a chance and let me know if Friday or Saturday works best. Tell the boys mamaw loves them and to get ready for some good eatin'. I mean it now. Call me back.'

Callers will now be informed that the 'user they are calling has not set-up their voice mailbox'.

'Tis unfortunate, indeed.

Gone are the days where 'I left you a message!' is a usable or legitimate defense six months after I failed to follow your vague instructions of 'Hey. Call me.'

I've declared jihad on familial voice mail messaging capabilities.

Satisfaction is now denied. There is no more absolution.

From this day forward, you will retain responsibility for the information you are attempting to relay until you speak with me personally.

May the games begin.