I was thinking earlier today about how I should get rid of my home phone because pretty much no one ever calls on it except the various non-profit groups asking for money. ‘Cause there’s so much of it. Anyway, the luddite part of my personality doesn’t want to give up the land line. When the “hurricane” was blowing in a few months ago, the cell didn’t work but the home phone did. Hard to give up that dependability. It’s just difficult justifying the expense for something that is hardly ever used.
So tonight, it was surprising when, after I’d fielded calls from NARAL and another liberal org asking for some dough, I got a “person-to-person” call from someone in San Antonio. Pretty much everyone I’ve known from age birth to current day has the ability to either a) call on his/her own or b) just call collect. Person-to-person? What is this, the fifties? Is someone calling me from Africa on a break during safari, a wet kerchief tied round his neck? Is it Colonel Mustard in the study with the pipe? The person placing the call didn’t understand that the little recording where you leave your name only gives you about a second and a half, so instead of hearing his name, I hear, “Yeah, person to person to BEEP,” which was a waste of his breath since the recorded operator states the fact that it’s person-to-person.
Anyway, I say “no” to accepting the charges since I don’t recognize the voice and the aforementioned lack of knowing anyone who would actually use the person-to-person system. I hang up and realize there’s one person I know who WOULD use the p2p, but it wasn’t his voice and I think he’s out of state. I barely get away from the phone when it rings again. Same deal. Same recording. Same me saying no. And again. Finally, when the phone rings again the operator gets in the mix (a LIVE operator) and tries to clear up the issue. I’ve got this dumbass (the p2p, not the operator) trying to find out if someone with my first and last name lives at this number, and I’m trying to find out who the fuck the dumbass is. The operator doesn’t want to get into it, though it’s obvious this guy is drunk. He keeps saying, “it’s Keith Hill.” All I can think is Toby Keith, who I hate, so it irritates me more. I tell the operator and the drunk Mr. Hill that I don’t know him. He calls back FIVE MORE TIMES. The recording is different. He still didn’t get the fact that he has a second and a half, so now I hear, “Are you sure you don’t know BEEP.” Dear biscuit, I can’t believe how fucking stupid and irritating this guy is. Finally, I call the number back on the caller ID and get the San Antonio operator people and tell them to block the fucking request and that was that. No more Keith Hill.