My Italian was nothing like up to the challenge of explaining to an Italian telephone operator how to do her job differently than she had ever done it before. But even when I convinced them that it was OK, nobody would answer, and they let me connect to what they felt was dead air… then I did something astounding and frightening.
I PLAYED THE DTMF TONES.
My God it was like I was trying to steal relics from the Duomo. What black art was I practicing? Why was I doing Privileged Things that only Operators were Allowed to do? Was I a criminal? A spy?
I remember that after I got the mailbox number entered correctly and a friendly American telephone voice came on the line they calmed down and let me continue the call. It had been arduous just to get into the booth, even more so to place the call, and now I had to wade through the new messages.