Dear Hold Message:
I'm so glad that you both understand that my time is valuable and appreciate my patience. But listening to this reassurance on a loop is what makes some peopel come into the office with loaded semiautomatics. Now, Hold Message, don't go calling my supervisor or anything like that. I know that these people around me are innocent... well, innocent of any Hold Message creation. But I can see why it'd drive some people--again, not me--to slaughter any living thing she saw.
It's not your cheery tone or the fact that you insist on playing what sounds like early U2 (albeit only seven seconds of a guitar solo from a familiar yet unnameable song). No, Hold Message. It's that you're lying to me.
It's that you like to go utterly silent for 13 seconds, leading me to check my phone for a connection problem.
It's that my break was supposed to start 47 minutes ago.
It's that you disconnected me earlier by transferring me to a busy signal.
It's that there is no alternate number, no working directory, no autoteller, and your website is as useful as tits on a bull.
I'd love to hang up on you. Violently. I'd love to slam this connection closed--but I know you don't mean it, Hold Message. I know that deep in your heart, my call is valuable to you, and that you are sorry--truly sorry!--for the delay. So I'll sit here and daydream and look for stray Gummi Bears in my desk drawers until my call is answered in the order in which it was received.