[Following is a transcription of a telephone call in which I, a fat, lazy American, had to speak with a business associate in England (a country in Europe). The transcription is as honest and accurate as memory serves.]
Englishman: (speaking with only a slight accent [which I found disappointing]): Hullo, [name of magazine redacted], [name of Englishman] speaking.
Me: Hi, [Englishman] this is [me] from [name of my office (an advertising agency) redacted].
E.: Ah, yes, I spoke with [name of my boss, redacted] this afternoon.
Me: Huh?
E.: [Boss], he mentioned you’d be calling—
Me: Oh. Right. This afternoon. It’s morning here.
E.: Ah, yes. Right.
Me: Tut tut. Pip pip.
E.: What?
Me: Nothing. Sorry.
E.: Right. So we’re waiting on the [name of my client, redacted] ad for our [name of magazine] October issue—
Me: Late, late, I know. I apologize on behalf of my whole continent.
E.: What?
Me: Uh … so … I just need clarification on some of the bloody material specifications—
E.: Right—I faxed those over, did you not receive them?
Me: I think I have them somewhere … oh bollocks. I must have lost them somewhere between the lift and the loo …
E.: I’m sorry—? Are you poking fun at me?
Me: What? No—
E.: Why are you talking like that?
Me: Tally-ho!
E.: I’m hanging up. I don’t find this funny.
Me: Bloody wanker!
E.: I think I should call [my boss].
Me: Jolly good! He’ll sort this out.
E.: I’m hanging up.
Me: Righto! Tea and crumpets! Fish and chips!
[I hum the theme song from “Benny Hill”]
Click.
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