Thursday, July 15, 2010

Thing 93 Call A Sex Chatline

Remember those two? Harry Enfield and Chums. Pure priceless comedy. The two pervy old ladies manning the hotline for some sex chat number... "oooh young man..." It's all I could think of today when I picked up the phone. I was weak from laughing. In my head Harry Enfield was on the other end of the line, dressed as some old dear, ready to "ooh young man" me to tears. If you've no idea what I'm talking about, I have the following suggestion: Look up Harry Enfield and Chums. Watch. Laugh.

Now, before you start on, I already know what you're going to say: "Isn't The Project supposed to be something new"?? Chortle chortle... Big Red cracked that joke earlier on today, and if you're competing with Big Red for punch lines then it's a troubled life you lead!!

I've really never called one of these things before. Two reasons: Firstly, I'm sort of a prude when it comes to these things. I know that seems stupid coming from a guy who flew to London to meet some pornstars (see Thing 69 - pun unintentional), but I really do have a shy streak when it comes to sex. Legacy of a catholic upbringing maybe. I'd be far too embarrassed to call one of these in good conscience...

Secondly, they depress me slightly in that Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye kind of way. I feel bad for their existence. I don't begrudge or anything, I just find them hard to bear. I've got some issues.

Anyway. The first thing that strikes one is the very unsexy pre-recording. In what I think might have been a County Clare accent, a man's voice told me....

"Under Section 31 of the Post Offices Act of 1951.... something something something". I don't know what he said after that, I was laughing too hard. I got a mad burst of giddiness. It felt like I was 14 and prank phonecalling someone again. I lost the sense of embarrassment and started to look forward to a chat with the nice lady on the other end.

But wait...

It's a sham. It's not live. I thought that some bloke putting on his best husky lady voice was going to be on the other end trying to convince me that he was a lonely housewife, or some bored girl making some easy money was going to promise me that I had the sexiest voice she'd heard all day.

Not so.

For the generous price of two euro and ninety cents per minute I got to record a brief message...

"Eh... hello. I'm Dan. I've just got a few questions to ask, if you don't mind...?"

"Hi Dan... I'm Liz. People tell me I'm very sexy, you can ask me anything you want".

"Eh... um... ahem... Hello Liz. I'm just curious about your job. Do you get alot of calls. I mean, do a lot of people ring this number. This whole process is making me kind of nervous."

"Don't be nervous Dan. Lots of people call me. I'll answer any questions you have. It doesn't matter how obscene they are".

At that point, I said thanks and hung up. Welll... there's nothing very sexy about that now is there? The only thing that got my pulse racing was the bloody cost. For two euro ninety a minute I was expecting at least Harry Enfield.

The late night TV ads promise so much. hundreds of girls are waiting online to chat to me, they tell me. They're all waiting for your call. It's like the ad promises a veritable feast of awkward, repressed playacting. I was hoping for at least a wind up, if not a pleasant chat. Nothing. I've seen broadcasts of the Six One News with Brian Dobson that were sexier than that.

Still... now I know. And I'll never do it again... Ever.

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