A confession here: Until age eleven or so, I was friggin' terrified of telephones. You couldn't pay me to dial one. Until I was about seven or eight, the thought of even speaking into one was nigh unthinkable. Somewhere around 1968 or so I did manage to get my act together so I could call my friends at home.
As with the man who got polymorphed into a newt, "I got better." Did switchboard stuff and reception, and actually developed a rather pleasant telephone manner.
But it's still nerve-wracking to just pick up the telly-o-phone and call a complete stranger.
On my morning coffee break, as I sat reading the paper, I noticed a want ad from an agency specializing in the medical field. I didn't want the job they had to offer, but I do want to be considered as a candidate for Bigger, Better Things.
So I called, mentioned where I'd heard of the company, and obtained a contact name for resumé-sending.
Which means that I'll soon be using my word processor for something other than NaNoWriMo. What a bizarre concept...