Your call is important to us. Please hold.

The hold line is a place without clocks. A parallel universe where you can grow old, die, and reincarnate as a dial tone. Every few minutes, a recorded voice lies to you gently, promising a connection that never comes.

The Annoyance

You called to fix something simple. Maybe a refund. Maybe your account. Instead, you were sentenced to the purgatory of smooth jazz and “your call is important to us.” Important enough to abandon you in a loop. You pace the room. You consider aging in real time. You wonder if anyone has ever made it out alive.

The Absurd Diagnosis

Condition: Acute Bureaucratic Dissociation.

Symptoms: emotional flatline, existential drift, rising suspicion that the universe runs on hold music.

Prognosis: irreversible unless contact with a real human is established (which statistically never happens).

A Low-Key Cure

Mute the call. Go make tea. Talk to the wall. It’s a better listener. Let the robotic voice keep reassuring you in the background. You don’t need closure. You need acceptance.

The Witty Insight

Being on hold is a modern meditation. You stare into the abyss, and the abyss plays saxophone covers of Elton John. Somewhere between irritation and enlightenment, you realize the truth: nobody’s coming. But strangely, that’s freeing.

Conclusion

You hang up, finally. The silence feels profound. You survived the call that never was. Somewhere, a skeleton still waits on line two.