Sam Venable 

Department of Irony

I have long accepted the fact that I’m a geek. I wear geeky clothes. I drive geeky vehicles. I listen to geeky music. I think geeky thoughts. 

Even worse, I’m not a geek in the modern sense. Meaning I’m not a computer geek who pockets $225,000 annually to translate English into digitese and vice versa. I’m merely a geek of the run-of-the-mill, aging-baby-boomer, barely-scraping-by, pot-bellied variety. 

That’s why I get so irritated when people engage in mindless cellphone chatter in the grocery store. 

Point of order: I own a cellphone. I use it sparingly—just for making calls, never receiving them. I couldn’t tell you my cellphone number if you put a cocked .38 to my head and gave me till the count of 10 to come up with it. 

Fossil that I am, I happen to believe a telephone, cellular or otherwise, is a tool to be used for necessary conversation. And (even though this is the height of geekiness), the conversation should not be a recreational activity. 

Let’s say I’m walking through the dairy aisle when a guy whips out a cellphone, punches a number and says, “Suzy, it’s Chuck. I’m confused. Did you ask for two quarts of sweet milk and one pint of buttermilk? Or two quarts of buttermilk and one pint of sweet milk?” 

 My initial reaction is to think to myself, “This knucklehead needs to write things down before he leaves on his errand.” But I always let the matter pass.

Or let’s say I’m browsing through produce and a cellphone rings and a voice near the cantaloupes says, “Hello. Yes, I did get the Hootenville contract signed. Please tell Virginia I’ll be arriving in about two hours with the necessary papers.” 

My reaction is to think to myself, “This jerk should have called Virginia before he left the Hooterville negotiations.” But I always let the matter pass. 

However, let’s say I’m standing in the checkout line and a cellphone rings and the jerk next to me answers and says, “Hey. Not doin’ nothin,’ just standin’ in line at Kroger. What are you doin? Standin’ in line at Food City? Is it as boring as standin’ in line at Kroger? It is? Boy, standin’ in line at the grocery store sure is boring, ain’t it?” 

My reaction then is to think to myself, “This person needs to be dragged outside and flogged with a belt, buckle-end first.” And it takes every ounce of strength in my body to keep from acting on the impulse. 

So maybe you will understand why I’m sitting here at my geeky desk, shaking my geeky head in dismay. It’s because I hold in my geeky hands a news release from officials of the Butterball Turkey Talk Line. This is the customer-service arm of a very large poultry producer—and if you can’t guess which brand, you’re even dumber than the bored idiot in my third example. 

The Butterball Turkey Talk Line is a big topic of discussion—in the news and among consumers—every November. Frankly, I’m a bit miffed that turkeys get all the attention. In the name of culinary diversity, you’d think there would be a Beef Stew Talk Line, a French Toast Talk Line, a Cornbread Talk Line, and a Tossed Salad Talk Line. Maybe the chefs who prepare those foods don’t need help. 

Anyhow, every year during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, the turkey experts compile some of the more interesting telephone calls they have gotten regarding the proper care and cooking of a turkey. 

Some of these inquiries are frighteningly funny. 

For instance, one frantic caller discovered she had run out of room in her refrigerator and wanted to know if she could safely store the turkey in her car—for two days. The woman was gently told it might be a better idea to knock on a few neighborhood doors and beg a bit of refrigerator space instead of running the risk of food poisoning. 

Some of the requests come from consumers calling on the run. Literally. 

A Florida firefighter was in the process of thawing a 30-pound bird for the firehouse feast when he got an emergency signal. En route to the scene, he called the talk line and asked how he could safely accelerate the thawing process when he returned to home base. Just use cold water, he was told. 

Some of the inquiries turn out to be tips. 

For example, one cook called to say she used raw carrots in place of a rack to keep her turkey off the bottom of the pan. It not only worked but also added flavor. 

Then there was the bride who had a tiny oven and was worried that the bird would rise during cooking, like a loaf of bread, and be too large to remove when it was done. And the man who asked if a turkey would cook faster if he drove a railroad spike through it, like cooking potatoes on a nail in the grill. Not to mention the, uh, “charitable” woman who inquired about a turkey she had kept frozen for 23 years. Assuming it remained rock-hard for the entire time and hadn’t been defrosted, she was told, it should be OK to eat—although the quality was not likely to be good.

“That’s what we thought,” she replied. “We’ll just donate it to the church.” 

But all of this gaiety was lost on me when I read one sobering statistic in the news release: “Call after call came from such locations as ‘Aisle Thirteen,’ ‘Aisle Five,’ and ‘Frozen Foods Section.’ In fact, more calls than ever originated on a cellphone from no place other than the shopper’s local store, a breeding ground for turkey-related questions.” 

You mean they wait until purchase time to inquire about what they’re purchasing?! How nuts! 

If I were the Jolly Green Giant and realized that my sacred supermarket had just been turned into a cellphone chat room, I’d arrange a walk-out—and I bet I could convince Betty Crocker, the Keebler elves, and Mr. Peanut to join me.

Sam Venable is an author, stand-up comedian, and humor columnist for the Knoxville (TN) News Sentinel. He may be reached at sam.venable@outlook.com.