Courtesy Call

When Mr. Phobe got his courtesy call at six o'clock in the morning, he let his eyes slowly adjust to the blue darkness in his room before edging off the bed & trying to remember where the bathroom was. Every hotel had a slightly different arrangement, & he was always in a different hotel. He had forty-minutes for a shower & all his other morning ablutions, & then he would have to go outside, determine what city he had found himself in, & begin his day.

As he was shaving, he remembered something strange about the courtesy call. His mind was always foggy up until he shaved; he believed it came into focus so he wouldn't slash his throat or something similar, since he used a straight razor. Always had, just like his father always had. & the use of the straight razor did focus his mind, woke him up actually, much as folks who needed a cup of coffee used the caffeine to sharpen their thoughts. He actually sharpened his thoughts with a steel blade. He said that aloud to himself & chuckled.

Was it something the woman said in the courtesy call? Usually it's a short sentence, something like, "Mr. Phobe, this is your courtesy call, it's six o'clock in the morning." The bigger chains had automated the process, which is why he tended to favor smaller hotels, or bed & breakfasts if he could find one. This morning, it had been a peculiar female voice - therefore it wasn't a recording - but she hadn't stuck to the script, she had said something unusual. What had it been?

He knew a thought like this would torture him for the rest of the day if he allowed it to. After he had dressed, he went downstairs to the small breakfast nook in this small hotel & got hot water for his tea. He saw an idle hotel worker & asked him pleasantly who made the courtesy calls in the morning. But the worker was unhelpful, even a little insolent, so Mr. Phobe left unsatisfied, even a little embarrassed to have asked. Yet he knew the unclear recollection would gnaw on him for the rest of the day, & he went to the front desk.

"Good morning, sir," said the young lady there.

"Good morning, young lady," said Mr. Phobe. "I have what might be an odd question. Who makes the courtesy calls in the morning?"

"Courtesy calls?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes," he said, "the courtesy call, to wake me up in the morning."

"Oh," she said, shaking off the confusion, "we don't call those courtesy calls. We call them 'wake-up calls.'"

Mr. Phobe didn't know how to respond.

"A courtesy call," the young lady at the front desk went on, "is what telemarketers commonly call their solicitations, to sugar-coat or otherwise obscure their intrusions. There's also a diplomatic courtesy call, which is probably where telemarketers & other salespeople got the term. But of course the 'courtesy call' in the telemarketer sense is the exact opposite of courtesy. It is, in fact, incredibly discourteous, often made at hours when one wants most to be with family or to relax. The calls made for the purpose of getting the consumer's money, not to help them in any way."

Mr. Phobe could not think of any sort of reply. He said, "Thank you," & turned away.

But now he had a bigger problem. He had been calling his wake-up calls "courtesy calls" nearly his entire life. What exactly, then, were his wake-up calls?