Earlier this year I got the itch to own an old-school desk telephone.
Why? Well, I like everything about them.
I like the gray, letter-embossed buttons, the cradle receiver and the curly, stretchy cord. I like that you can carry the base around. I like how, if you take a black-and-white photo of someone while they’re speaking into such a phone, it automatically looks like a Very Important Phone Call.
My first thought was to get one for work. My strategy chats with clients would no doubt benefit and I would sound more authoritative when speaking with reporters.
The gravitas would be palpable.
The idea was quickly shot down by Michele, who fills a litany of roles at the office, including making equipment dreams come true. She said a phone like that wouldn’t connect to our uber-modern telecommunications system and that if I wanted one I could use it as a “paper weight.”
As I continue to convalesce, my boss has been making regular visits to see me. Earlier this week he brought with him a sizable box. It was from Michele — and it was the red phone pictured above.
Touche again, Michele.
I quickly added a land line to my phone plan for a couple of bucks, tracked down a DSL filter, and started dialing people up on what I’ve dubbed The Brockline.
It’s glorious. The ring is amazing. The sound it makes when it comes on and off the hook is like poetry.
The line has no caller ID, no call waiting and no voicemail. It is simply a direct landline to my house. If you ring it and I’m home, I will answer. And if you’d like the number, message me for a Very Important Call.