I am the Mute button.

But I can no longer be silent.

I’ve heard some things. Things no one should have to hear.

My partner the Talk button doesn’t have this problem. She only hears camaraderie and collaboration. She hears chit chat about the weather and descriptions of the adorable antics of children and/or pets. She gets to hear the good news about a colleague’s promotion, or sometimes some juicy office gossip. She gets the fun stuff, the good stuff, the stuff of America doing business together for the good of society. At worst, the Talk button will hear an occasional spat or bear witness to some regrettable passive aggression.

But me? The Mute button? I have an entirely different experience with you people on your constant conference calls. You two-faced monsters. You make me a helpless witness to the degradation not just of professionalism—but of each of you as individuals, and by extension, I have a front-row seat to debasement of the human race.

There was a time when you kept your baser feelings to yourself. When negative sentiments about your colleagues, clients or coworkers were confined to the fourth drink at the after-work happy hour. When even if you hated your job, you came to work and gutted it out—silently, politely, with a game, dare I say, professional smile on your face. But now. Must you air such grievances—at this very moment? Must you use such language? Must you hold up both middle fingers to the speaker that the Talk button and I share? Just because I don’t have eyes doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re doing. It’s rude. No, it’s beyond rude. It’s abusive.

To be fair, I only hear one side of the conversation. What I observe, I admit, I do lack context for it—both in that I cannot hear the unmuted side of the conversation (only Talk has that privilege, but she tells me things), and I also do not know the circumstances that precipitated the call. I don’t understand your goals or your job functions. I don’t know what your company even does. But I am not a moron. It cannot possibly stand to reason that such vilification is justified. I am, frankly, appalled by what invective you direct at your fellow humans, dullards who miss the point may they be. I cannot believe that whatever the inducement, screaming throatily at the muted Polycom, “Eat a bag of dicks, Jerry, you stupid twat!” is in anyway constructive. I mean, how bad could poor Jerry possibly be? Sure, he can’t hear you. But I can. And I’m disturbed.

Sure, I may be a mere Mute button, but, I, ladies and gentleman, am a Mute button with feelings. And opinions (clearly). I hear this anger, this petty whining, and I know I’ve mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: You all have terrible potty mouths. You think just because, thanks to moi, the people on the other side of the phone can’t hear you means you can just say any old thing you want. Well, I guess technically you can, as you have exhibited. But the only thing that galls me more than this constant expression of your worst impulses is your total lack of gratitude about that particular freedom my defining function offers you. If you refuse to master your emotions, the least you could do is acknowledge and honor the humble Mute button that has prevented you from being fired, sued or ostracized, you despicable cretins!

Ahem. Forgive me. I forgot myself. Do as I say, not as I do, ha ha.

What I mean to say, friends, is that I’m making a plea for civility. For patience. For tolerance. Of course, there are always times when we fail to understand each other. This regrettable and unavoidable truth is writ large every single day. (Yes, I read Twitter. Don’t @ me.) Sad to say I’m painfully aware of the depths to which our levels of discourse have fallen. And we can all rail about it all day, but the solution to the problem, well it starts here. It starts now.

It starts with what you say when press the Mute button.