How to Survive Seven Minute Voice Memo Friends

My best friend doesn't text. She sends voice memos. Seven minutes long. Recorded while driving, with wind noise, a drive-thru order in the middle, and the actual question somewhere around minute five. I have eleven unplayed ones and now she's asking why I never answer. I love her. I just can't do it. What do I do?

Trapped Under Endless Voice Memos,
Eleven Unplayed

You do the thing you’ve been avoiding. You tell her. But first, let’s be clear about what’s actually happening here, because you’re carrying guilt that doesn’t belong to you.

A seven-minute voice memo isn’t a message. It’s homework. Her thinking out loud, recorded and delivered to you for grading. She got to ramble freely, at highway speed, with a number four combo in the middle. You get to sit there with the phone pressed to your ear, waiting for minute five, praying the question is in there somewhere.

It’s a phone call with the other person removed. All the length of a conversation, none of the back-and-forth. You can’t interrupt. You can’t say “wait, what?” You can’t say “I’ve got to go.” It’s a podcast with one listener and no skip button.

Remember answering machines? One beep. Thirty seconds. Then the tape cut you off mid-sentence and you had to call back like a defeated person. And you know what? Everybody got to the point. “It’s me. Dinner’s at six. Bring the folding chairs.” Thirty seconds turned out to be plenty. Most of what any of us has to say still fits in thirty seconds.

So no, you’re not a bad friend. You’re a hostage.

Here’s how you get out. You stop ignoring them, because ignoring them is how you got eleven deep and a guilt trip. You call her. An actual phone call. And you say it out loud, kindly, once: “I love hearing from you. I can’t do seven minutes of memo. Call me, or text me the question.” That’s it. No speech. No apology tour.

She might be hurt for a day. Then she’ll realize she’s been sending you something that takes her seven minutes and costs you seventy, and she’ll knock it off. Or she’ll start calling, which is honestly what she wanted in the first place. People who send seven-minute memos aren’t rude. They’re lonely in the car. Give her a real call to fill the drive.

And those eleven unplayed memos? Delete them. If any of it mattered, she’ll say it again. She always does.

– Uncle Bobby