My boyfriend is one of those people who should be permanently banned from ever going near a phone. After years of terrible service, we are finally changing Internet providers. As part of this dreary ritual, you have to talk to one of their customer retention specialists who tries to hard sell you on remaining. I’m loosely listening in.

Boyfriend: “Hi, yeah, I would like to cancel our Internet service.”

Pause.

Boyfriend: “A-ha… yeah… nuh. Just want to cancel.”

Pause.

Boyfriend: “Yeah… hey… did you know Marilyn Monroe faked her own death?

Pause.

Boyfriend: “Yeah… she took that voodoo drug from hay-teeeeee, then changed her surname and came back as a dude. You know the one… Marilyn Manson… even sang that cover of one of her songs…”

Pause.

Boyfriend: “Yeah… man… yeah…” *Starts singing.* “Sweet dreams are made of this…”

Yes, I know Marilyn Monroe never sang this song.

Boyfriend: “Who am I to disagree? I travelled the world and the seven seas…”

Pause.

Boyfriend: “…everybody’s looking for something, some of them want to use you…

Pause.

Boyfriend: “…some of them want to be used by you…”

Pause.

Boyfriend: “…some of them want to abuse you…”

Pause.

Boyfriend: *Incredibly coyly.* “…some of them want to be ABUSED…”

Pause.

Boyfriend: “Ah, yes, as I said, I just wanted to cancel my Internet.

Pause.

Boyfriend: “My account number? Yes, it’s [Account number]. Is that it? Great, thanks, bye!

He was so d*** pleased with himself.