I called an unnamed large university today in search of a quote about a pending lawsuit against them. When the PR guy heard the subject of my call, he…hung up on me. He kind of snorted first. Now, I might have expected such scorn after he heard the name of the paper I work for, but no, he waited me out. When I called back I went into the voicemail. Of a phone line that is staffed 24-hours. Interesting.
I haven’t been hung up on since middle school, when Michele would hang up on me occasionally to be funny. I don’t think this guy was being funny, except unintentionally. Anyway, suddenly I feel like Robert Redford in that Deep Throat movie (not the porn one, the news one), battling for the truth in the face of a hostile world. Except I don’t really have time to track down the truth so instead they will get the black mark of journalism, “[giant unnamed university] refused to comment [and bloody hung up on our reporter, the yobs].”
I think my internal mutterer is British. Huh.
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