(Roy Lichtenstein's Drowning Girl, public domain)

I hate being put on hold. 

Right now I am on hold with Nikon in order to approve an estimate for fixing my camera (which is zero dollars and zero cents, as the camera is still covered under warranty due to my ability to break things in very little time).  I tried confirming my estimate online, but the site told me that my information was incorrect, which it was not. I tried to verify that my information is, in fact, perfectly accurate by sending it through multiple times.  This didn’t work, so I am forced to turn to the phone, knowing that I will be put on hold, and I hate being put on hold.

At this point I have waited my limit and put my cell phone on speaker phone. It is down on my desk next to me playing snazzy jazz music.  My phone now says that I have been on hold for nine minutes and 13 seconds.  Every 120 seconds, a mechanic-sounding male voice says, “All support specialists are still busy at this time. We thank you for your continued patience.”

Patience, what patience? 

I am on the verge of grinding my phone into the desk, and I am sick of the snazzy jazz music. In fact, I am sure that if anyone had a choice, they would never choose to listen to snazzy jazz music. Suddenly, the music stops before the 120 seconds are up, meaning I might be about to get through to a real person. I freeze in my seat poised and staring, ready to snatch my phone and have a 30 second conversation with a “support specialist” to tell them that yes, I am willing to spend zero dollars and zero cents to fix my broken camera. 

But the pause in the music did not mean that my call went through, I look down at a blank screen to see that my cell phone died.  After nearly 11 minutes of wasted life, my phone quit on me. 

I hate being put on hold.