
You dial the number that appears on the contact form for Titan Industrys. You're going to give them a piece of your mind, that's for sure!
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
Ring. . .
". . . hel-lo," a droning voice finally answers. "At the - sound - of the - tone - lee - vuh - a - mess - age."
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
You are taken aback by the abrasive sound of their tone, and suddenly don't fully recall what it was you were going to complain about. "I, uh, er," you sputter, "I was just calling to, um, ask about your Otto Pilot Traffic Machine website. It, er, seems to be broken! It's doing something awful to my computer! Please call me back!"
Quickly, without thinking, you hang up the phone, only then realising that you didn't leave a phone number or your name. By now, however, you are too unnerved to call them back to clarify anything.