Today we had a carpenter in the house taking care of a project. During a lull in the action, while I was in the back of the house, I heard the most awful, shrill, hair-raising squealing sound. It was clearly an animal, and just as clearly no animal in this house. I came out to investigate and found my wife chuckling.
“What was that?” I asked.
She indicated the carpenter, who was talking on his mobile. “His ring tone. It’s a dying pig.”
It actually would not be difficult to record a dying pig in Portugal, where the annual slaughter of the family pig remains a common event in rural areas. But who in the hell would want that on their phone?
Not our carpenter, apparently — his son put the ring tone on there as a joke. I have to admit, it’s a lot more inventive than sticking Dad with techno music.