I would be a receptionist, not because I particularly want to be, but because I’d be doing some stupid Ai bot out of a job.

I had in mind when writing the following a little known and very short song by Bob Dylan, called “Jet Pilot” in which he describes a purportedly beautiful young woman fancied by all the jet pilots, however the beautiful young woman turns out to be a man. “All the bombardiers wanna drive her out of town”

THE RECEPTIONIST.

Her voice was beautiful crisp and sharp
Had a melodious tone that rang like a harp
He pictured that figure on the end of the phone
A beauty to match that melodious tone

Was he in love, how could it be,
in love with someone he could not see
Should he ask for a date, or maybe he could visit
That was until he found she wasn’t a she but an it.

All words except Bob Dylan quote, Meadowhead Bard.