When I was young, maybe 9 or so, I answered the phone. Dun dun duuuun. On the other end was a man who asked to speak to someone I didn’t know. I told him that he had the wrong number. I guess he could tell from my “accent” that I wasn’t from where he was from. (Awesome sentence structure. I’m leaving it.) (Do Canadians even have accents? I guess to the rest of the world we do. Probably doesn’t sound nearly as cool as an Australian or a British accent. Either way, I’ve never heard a Canadian use the word “aboot” seriously, so you can kill that stereotype right now.) He asked me where I was from so, being a dumb kid, I said ‘Canada’. He said something along the lines of ‘Oh, you’re not from [insert whatever city in one of the Southern states that he was actually trying to call]? That’s too bad, ’cause you sound cute.’
Now, I don’t know about you, but when I was 9 I sounded like I was 9. I don’t think I could have passed for 18. This man was clearly, even to my untrained 9-year-old ears, a man.
And this man, he sounded exactly like this guy:
So it’s Harry Connick Jr’s* fault that I don’t pick up the phone unless I know the number. You know, in case there’s another pervy celebrity on the line waiting to be the cause of another phobia. Thanks for the Phonophobia, Harry. You’re the best.
* Caller was not actually Harry Connick Jr. That would have made this story much more interesting.
** I’d like to pre-apologize to Mr. Harry Connick Jr. himself if, for some reason, this little quip made it’s way around to someone who knows him.
Dear Mr. Connick Jr.,
Sorry about the bad press. Maybe you should stop having the same voice as this one pervy dude. Makes it hard to watch Will & Grace without shrinking into my couch a little. It would help if you were a little more un-good looking, that way I could hate you all together. But no. You have to go and have a pervy, scary voice and be sort of not un-good looking. Thanks a lot. You’re confusing.
Jen O. from Canada.