If you leave a message on my voicemail that is as long as a song, it had better be one of two things.
It had better be an actual song, one you are singing to me, a time-crunched listener, to prove that you have an A-list voice and a platinum hit on your hands; or the message had better be really important—as in you just got word that brain-sucking aliens are attacking and you’ve found yourself in possession of incredibly detailed instructions known only to the military for protecting against and/or defeating the invaders.
If it isn’t either of these, then you have about fifteen seconds before I hang up, delete the message, and guess its contents two days later.
No voicemail message needs to be 3 minutes and 48 seconds. That’s almost four whole minutes. People can run a mile in 3 minutes and 48 seconds. For a guy like me, that’s essentially a micro-meeting where you do all the talking, and at the pace I’m usually moving, there’s a lot a guy like me could do in 3 minutes and 48 seconds. For crying out loud, I can recite the books of the Old Testament in 11 seconds. Just ask the kids in my confirmation class.
I could mow a good portion of my front yard in 3 minutes and 48 seconds.
I could respond to about twenty emails in 3 minutes and 48 seconds.
While Jen is away, I could cook dinner for my kids in 3 minutes and 48 seconds. (Each piece of pizza from the previous night gets 35 seconds on “high” in the microwave—give or take a few seconds here and there. Dinner for five is served in 2 minutes and 55 seconds flat.)
I could drive to the local McDonald’s and back for coffee in 3 minutes and 48 seconds.
I could write a reasonable chunk of a sermon in 3 minutes and 48 seconds.
I could empty the dishwasher. I could power wash the deck. I could call and schedule a day’s worth of shut-in visitations.
I could sip a whisky and write my review notes. Don’t believe me? Well, you should know that in 36 seconds, I noted that the nose of the Henry McKenna Single Barrel 10-year-old was undulating with cinnamon, chocolate covered cherries, and a tinge of wood char.
In 77 seconds, I sensed in the palate the same wood char from the nose, as well as a passing of peppered citrus and damp oak.
In 41 seconds, I recorded a slight nip of peppermint at the edges of the tongue and a lingering sour that wasn’t entirely annoying, although it did seem to overstay its welcome.
That’s 2 minutes and 34 seconds of time to learn that this Bourbon is worth your while. The remaining minute and 14 seconds was just enough time to write the first full paragraph of this review.
So, like I said, sing to me or give me what I need to save my family in a cosmic incursion. Anything and everything else… well… you’ll just have to hope I’m a good guesser.