Do you have a minute?

A phone call (9/8/16)

"Those bastards!" you exclaim. This is the fourth time this month and you've asked each time to be taken off the calling list. Your fingers jab the button to redial and you hold the phone to your ear, tapping your foot irritably.

"Sleepin' Beaut Nation, how may I assist you today?" The voice on the other line is saccharine. You are not fooled.

"Listen," you say, "I appreciate your message, I really do. But this is the fourth time this month that you've called and done your...your thing without first describing the process or introducing yourselves!"

"Shall I direct you to our claims department?" the voice asks.

Your knuckles go white around the phone. "No! The first time, the first time, I was fine with it. I want to help my country, I really do but this is ridiculous, ma'am. You can't exploit people for your bottom line."

"We are a non profit, we don't have-"

"Everyone knows what you do with the time," you interrupt. This is not strictly true, You heard from your neighbor what "everyone" thinks and it's just sort of stuck with you since. "Okay? Everyone knows. Now, I'm all for giving time to the military. I'm all for having the time to train for the next big crisis. I fully support my government. I pay my taxes. But this is ridiculous!"

"Sir," the voice says, "that is not the primary goal of Sleepin' Beaut Nation. Your time also goes to helping the Make a Wish foundation address more cases-"

You snort. "Right. Right, well, I'm done, okay? Take me off the list. You've got twenty minutes off of me, I will not-"

"Please reconsider, sir," the voice says. "Sleepin' Beaut Nation does so many wonderful things! What's five minutes of your time? Five minutes that you would have used doing something less productive than helping a child in need?"

You guiltily think of all the tiny hats you've forced onto Meatball's, your cat's, head. "I, uh, work. So I can pay my taxes."

"You would rather watch five more minutes of Friends?" the voice continues on blithely. "Really?"

You look over your shoulder, shocked. On the screen, Jennifer Aniston stares disapprovingly back at you. "How did you-?"

"Or maybe you'd like to play Halo for another six hours," the voice says. It is no longer saccharine but crystalline in its severity. "In fact, of the past week, over eighty percent of your time has been devoted to Halo or Friends reruns."

A chill rolls down your spine. "I-I'm on vacation."

"Oh, you're on vacation," the voice mocks. "Well, you certainly deserve it, Tim Rogers at 34 Oakland St. Meanwhile, just down the road, a little girl is dying of leukemia. Her father is over seas and won't make it back in time to say goodbye unless she receives our help. Your help."

Your mouth is very dry. "How did you know my name? What I'm doing?"

"It's the age of technology, Tim Rogers," the voice says. "We can do a lot more than know something as simple as your name. Now, are you sure that you'd like to be taken off our calling list?"

You struggle with yourself. "I-yes." You clear your throat. "It's very sad about the girl down the road but it's not my life, you understand? It's not. I am entitled to, to my life and my time. I won't have you guilting me for living my own life."

The voice is silent for a long time. When it finally does speak, it is very flat and monotonous; a recording more than a voice. "Of course, sir. Please excuse us. We will remove you from the list."

You listen to the dial tone and swallow. The chills have not stopped creeping up and down your spine.