Good Morning, It’s the Sister That You Don’t Have, Calling

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My voice mailbox is my ten shelf-feet of National Geographic (see Saving the World, One Stick of Secret at a Time),  and it’s my sister’s  fault. There are only four minutes out of thirty available to future message-leavers because I save her messages, meaning to transcribe them. Obviously, I do not do this in a timely manner, but I managed to do one this morning. I have included it below:

“Hi. I am just calling to fill you in on my new beauty tactic for my makeup regime. I got the idea after assembling all the photos and getting so tired of seeing myself so wrinkly….Here’s my idea. Usually what I’ve done in the past is I apply makeup and then I smile.

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“I don’t really, I don’t smile at myself in the mirror. But I smile afterward at people. What I think I would be better off doing is, I’m going to smile into the mirror and then I’m going to take a trowel and I’m going to apply makeup  and fill in the cracks and I’m just going to keep that smile on my face–all day. And then no one will know that I have any wrinkles and I’ll be perpetually smiling. And that’s what I’m doing on the phone as I talk. And I’m not sure if you can tell the difference in my tone of voice. It sounds slightly different to me. So anyway, I’m  just introducing you to the new me.”

I think she’s on to something. Not necessarily with the makeup tip, although it sounds cheaper than Botox without the residual numbness for six to eight weeks.

Not even the Titan 1 electron microscope could reveal the wrinkles. (www.fei.com)

And not necessarily with the perpetual smile, although they say phone salesmen should smile while they talk because you really can tell. I know I can, and I can hear it in my own voice. A smile goes a long way, even via fiber optic cable.

But I think the visionary concept here is the message itself. I envision an earning potential in such phone messages.  Customers could choose from any of a variety of prerecorded messages available for preview on a website and have them delivered to the voice mailbox of their choice. The service would be free, like e-cards, because a revenue stream would be generated by advertisers. There would of course be a disclaimer regarding automobile accidents caused as a result of listening to the messages while driving. There could be messages for special occasions, too–sappy ones for the morning after, say, or snarky ones for the bad breakup. But I think my sister would be in charge only of those that were gorgeously ludicrous.

Am I the only one who thinks this is a good idea? Or is it destined to go the way of the Swim Jammie? (See Building the Future, One Accident at a Time.)

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