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August 12, 2013 / Andee Frizzell

Just One of the Guys

choirI pressed one for English, I pressed two for new customer, I pressed three for ‘want to hear about the latest deal packages’ (I always press this option hoping they’ll pick up the phone faster because of the opportunity to try to sell me something, it doesn’t work, like repeatedly hitting the elevator button) and then I waited on hold and waited and waited…. Finally, after a nauseating forty-five minutes of easy listening classical remixes, an internet technician operator chimed in, “Hi, I’m Rupert, how can I help you today?”  

Through an exhausting additional thirty minutes, I explained the situation regarding my internet service and not surprisingly, Rupert wasn’t able to help me. In wrapping up the call Rupert inquired, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Sir?”

Sir? I was still reeling in the fact he used the word ELSE, like he’d been able to assist me in the first place. “No.” I replied.

“Then you have a great day, Sir.”

Sir? Not surprising, this gender mistake happens to me more often than not when talking on the phone. Not only do I have the voice of a seasoned jazz singer, my name is Andee, causing all sorts of confusion.

I was eight years old when I realized I had not the voice of an angel but that of a sultry, sex phone operator who smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes during her breaks.

It was during third grade choir practice that I was informed I sang baritone not soprano.

Our choir room was shaped like an amphitheatre that surrounded Mrs. Maisies’s grand piano that sat in the centre of the room. Our class was divided into girls on the left and boys on the right.

Throughout a spectacular rendition of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,’ Mrs. Maisie became visibly agitated. “Again children, from the top.” She said while honing her musically inclined ears towards our pleating, tinny voices.

Suddenly, mid-performance, she swung her silver haired head in my direction and laid her steely, blue eyes on me. “You,” she waved a crooked finger, “You, go stand with boys.”

Apparently it was my deep rolling voice that was throwing off the harmony of the ditty causing Mrs. Maisie to cringe each time we hit the chorus. I reluctantly crossed the open oval and made my way over to the right side of the room.

Billy, the cutest boy in third grade moved aside and made room for me to stand next to him. I warmed instantly to the idea of having to stand with ‘the boys.’

Especially….the ‘not hard on the eyes’ variety.

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One Comment

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  1. arcticgoddess / Aug 13 2013 12:06 am

    Oh, the indignity of standing with the boys. Were you taller than them then? I bet you were. You showed them in the end. You grew up to be a beautiful goddess of Wraith. Who can beat that?

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