Basically, every time.
It's the worst feeling in the world.
Really, though. You don't call, you don't write...you're breaking my heart.
And on that day, I will yell "smokebomb, POOF!" and run out of the building, waving my arms and yodeling. I won't actually have a smokebomb, but the yelling should be distracting enough.
I don't even know what you're saying, anymore. All I can hear is the slamming of my own heart and the internal buzz of what could be a series of tiny strokes happening in my frontal lobe. Originally, the "Make it pop" line was written in Papyrus. But I couldn't bring myself to actually use it.
