Not pictured: P'Zone personal pan pizza with extra cheese
I guess you guys have your cake (or pie in this case) and eat it too in this century, don'tcha?
Mister O'Brien or Representative Thereof,
The Ruthless Organization Against Citizen Heroes (ROACH) has reviewed your Craigslist ad and would like to have you in for an interview. We feel that your particular brand of presentation will be a valuable asset in our small but fast-growing company. Hours are flexible, housing provided in henchmen barracks (family suite). Competitive pay with opportunity for advancement, must be familiar with current death ray technology and Microsoft Excel.
Reply at your earliest convenience,
Head of Evil Human Resources
As soon as you begin to talk, I feel trapped and desperately scan the room for tasks I can do to justify the enormous waste of time that is your talking. I wash dishes, I file receipts, I read news sites, I make little fake suicide faces to my wife Cassandra about how much I want to hang up that cause her to yell "Joel, I need you now" in a really unconvincing way that I've asked her not to do, but I still can't stop making the suicide faces. In desperate times, when I am on my cell phone in the middle of nowhere, I will pace. The only other time I pace is when I stub a toe or burn myself. But when I start talking, I assume that you are sitting perfectly still, rapt.
The only sci-fi show that understood this was Star Trek. Bones and Jim would use their flip phones to talk quickly about beaming or health issues. The only time they'd fire up the videophone was when a Klingon was sitting in a spaceship 20 yards away with guns pointed at them. Even then I think Sulu was checking out GoFugYourself.com