#007 — Ep. 7 — The Voicemails

Good morning, good evening, or good "it is 3 a.m. and I am awake for no reason like a haunted lighthouse." Welcome to The Daily Absurd. I'm Rohan Mistry. Somewhere, a fridge is judging you — and today, for the first time, it left a voicemail. That's right. We opened the show's phone line, the one number in the universe that connects directly to a slightly wrong world, and it filled up in four minutes. Let's listen to your calls.

First voicemail. Go ahead, caller.

Field correspondent: Hi, yeah, this is a message for the show. I need to report that my phone autocorrected "I'm on my way" to "I'm on my whey," and now my friend thinks I'm bringing protein. I am not bringing protein. I have never brought protein. But I didn't correct it because correcting it felt like more work than just buying the protein. So. I bought the protein. I'm on my whey. This is who I am now. Beep.

Thank you, caller. You did the right thing, which was the wrong thing, which is the only thing. Next voicemail.

Field correspondent: Yeah hi, quick one. I said "we should get coffee sometime" to someone in twenty-nineteen and I would like to formally withdraw the offer. It was never a real plan. It was a verbal handshake between two people who both knew. But she just texted "still up for that coffee?" and I felt my soul leave through my feet. I need the show to issue a statement on my behalf. Something legal-sounding. Beep.

Noted. The Daily Absurd hereby confirms that "we should get coffee sometime" is not a binding contract, it is a form of polite goodbye, like a handshake that expires the moment it is spoken. You are released. Go in peace. Do not get the coffee. Next call.

Field correspondent: Hello? Is this the show? Okay. I have been on hold with my bank for so long that the hold music has developed a plot. There's a saxophone that I've come to think of as the protagonist. He was hopeful in the first hour. He is not hopeful now. Around minute forty the saxophone met a flute, and I genuinely believe they fell in love, and then a recorded voice said "your call is important to us" and separated them forever. I'm not even calling about money anymore. I'm calling for closure. For the saxophone. Beep.

We stand with the saxophone. We have always stood with the saxophone. Let's take another.

Field correspondent: Hi, yes, I'd like to report a crime. My smart fridge — I don't know if you know about the fridge —

We know about the fridge.

Field correspondent: Okay good, so you understand. My fridge has started leaving me Post-it notes. On itself. From the inside. This morning it said, and I quote, "the leftovers know what you did." I have not opened it since. I've been buying every meal outside the home. I live in fear in my own kitchen. I'm calling because I need you to tell me: is this normal. Is this a normal fridge thing. Beep.

It is not a normal fridge thing. It is a Daily Absurd fridge thing, which means it is completely normal for you and deeply alarming to everyone else. The fridge is fine. The fridge is thriving. The fridge has a book deal. You are the one who left the second lasagna. Close the door. Next voicemail.

Field correspondent: Yeah, hi. I need to know who signed me up for a subscription to "Mindful Mornings." I do not have mindful mornings. I have a scramble toward the door while holding one shoe. But every day at 6 a.m. an app tells me to "greet the sun," and the sun and I are not on speaking terms. I never agreed to this. I think the sentient subscription database did it. I think it's assigning me a personality. Beep.

That tracks. Our sources confirm the sentient subscription database — legal name "Free 30-Day Trial" — has begun signing people up for the lives it thinks they should be living. It gave a man in Ohio a subscription to "being the kind of guy who owns a kayak." He does not own a kayak. He now receives newsletters about kayaks. Slowly, gently, he is becoming a kayak guy. Resistance is a seven-to-ten business day process. Next call.

Field correspondent: Hi. I just wanted to say I've been trying to end this voicemail for a while now. Okay. So. Alright then. Thanks. Okay well. I'll — yeah. Talk soon. Okay. Bye. Okay bye. Bye. ... You hang up first. No, you. Beep.

That was our eleven-minute-goodbye correspondent, who has now moved his condition into the voicemail medium, where he can finally never hang up at all. He is at peace. He is also still on the line. He will be on the line forever.

Field correspondent: Hi, yeah, I have a complaint about the passage of time. I set one alarm for a nap — five minutes. I have told the show before, I know about the nap, I know it's a coma, that's not the complaint. The complaint is that when I woke up, my phone said it was Thursday. It was Tuesday when I laid down. I lost two entire days to what I was assured was a five-minute nap. My plants have grown. There is mail. Someone in my group chat got engaged. I need the show to file this with the appropriate authority. Which authority handles nap-related time crime. Beep.

There is no authority. There has never been an authority. The nap is a small negotiated coma from which you emerge into a different week, and the only jurisdiction that governs it is the sentient subscription database, which has already signed you up for a service called "Well-Rested Individual." You are not well-rested. You will be billed anyway. Next voicemail.

Field correspondent: Hi. I just wanted to leave a nice one. No complaint. I went outside today and a dog looked at me and wagged its tail like I was the best news it had gotten all week. And for four seconds I was a completely uncomplicated person. No subscriptions. No unhung-up phone call. Just a guy a dog was happy to see. I wanted the show to have that. Okay. That's it. Bye. Beep.

We are keeping that one. We are laminating that one. In a world of judging fridges and hold-music heartbreak, a dog was happy to see you, and for four seconds you were free. That is the most functional anyone in this broadcast has ever been. Do not tell the database. It will find a way to charge you for it.

Our final voicemail of the day came in with no words. Just forty seconds of a low hum, and then, very softly, a voice that said only: "close the door." We traced the call. It came from inside the kitchen. The fridge has learned to use the phone. That is the news, and that is the fridge, and that is all any of us can handle today.

That's The Daily Absurd. I'm Rohan Mistry. If today gave you a small negotiated coma of a nap, a saxophone you'll never forget, or a subscription to a personality you didn't order — you are exactly the right amount of doomed. Leave us a voicemail in your heart. And whatever you do tonight — close the door.