The Perils of Office Intercoms

Can you see my face right now?  I mean, I know you can’t since you’re reading this, and we’re not like, having a skype conversation (despite the fact my blog entries can be rather chatty).  If you COULD see my face right now, you’d see that it’s Ariel-from-the-Little-Mermaid red.


Because I just totally embarrassed myself on the office intercom system.

I’ve been temping the last few days at a children’s clothing company called Gerson & Gerson Inc which manufactures adorably chic little girl dresses (think Violet Affleck) under the name Bonnie Jean.  I had to make an announcement that designers were to bring their fall samples to the showroom.  Unfortunately, I misheard the word samples and thus had to repeat the message about three times until I finally got it corrected.  At the end of the third time, I just laughed and said, “sorry for the confusion.”

This is the first office I’ve temp-ed in that has an intercom system.  It makes me feel like I’m back in elementary school when I use it; only this time, I’m the annoying, yet sweet secretary forced to give alerts.  I’ve been doing well up until this point, evoking the relatability of Pam from the Office with the cool wit of Moneypenny from Bond and just a hint of the sexy professionalism of Joan from Mad Men.  I’ve studied the great secretaries of the world and adopted their best traits.  Unfortunately, none of them could teach me how to effectively operate an office intercom system in a way that wouldn’t make me sound like that Ms. South Carolina beauty pageant girl who couldn’t answer the question about U.S. maps.

I promise I’m not an idiot.  And I also promise I can locate the U.S. on a world map, Miss Teen USA 2007 pageant judges.

Anyway, office intercoms should be banned.  As an actor, you’d think I’d find using an intercom system fun and easy.  You’d think I’d just LOVE hearing myself monologue-ing like Brando or a comic book villain about office visitors, food deliveries, and general office announcements.  You’d think I’d want to take advantage of a captive audience and force everyone listen to me sing Celine Dion power ballads.  Nothing could be further from the truth (though the Celine Dion thing sounds like a great office prank); I hate hearing my own speaking voice echoing back at me.  I feel like an idiot every time I have to make an announcement.  It’s like my hair in middle school: horrifying.

I’m just really glad I don’t work in elementary schools, theme parks, Wal-Mart, or the Pentagon because as much as I love to hear myself talk, I don’t actually love hearing myself talk.


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