I hate the telephone

For the past three weeks or so, the memory on my home answering machine has been filled to capacity with undeleted messages. The majority of the messages begin something like this: "Hi! This is Bonnie! I'm calling from the wireless service center. I've been looking over your account, and I think I've found a way that you could save a lot of money! Give me a call and I'll tell you all about it!"

When the machine was filled, incoming callers received a message along the lines of "Sorry. I'm unable to take a message" in that weird machine voice. It was bliss, coming home everynight, not having to listen to messages from Bonnie or Wayne or whoever.

Now, most of the people who know me well have my cell phone number. The greatest things about cell phones is that telemarketing calls are prohibited. That is so sane and wonderful. The second greatest thing is that caller ID is built in. If you have caller ID blocked, expect that I will never, ever pick up the phone when you call. You're going to leave a message and wait for me to call you back. Trust. So, my land line is sort of superfluous.

Over the weekend, I thought better of effectively not having an answering machine. I mean, there are a scant few people who insist on leaving messages for me there. In fact, it was my instructions when I added my name to GMSMA's contact list that if you need to talk to me, call me on my cell, but if you want to leave a message, call my home number. So I erased all the messages from Bonnie and Wayne and their evil evil evil brethren and sistern.

Tonight I got home and there were two messages. One was a woman who identified herself as 'the landlord' looking for Mike Ivanito and Bill Smith, and threatening to call 'the probation officer' if the call wasn't returned. She's not my landlord. I don't know Mike and Bill. I don't have a probation officer. The second was for Karen Roblicki and sounded very much like a creditor. Both of these parties--I'm pretty sure--have called my number before, and left messages, and I've called them back and told them that the people they're trying to reach do not, in fact, live with me, I don't know who they are, they are not at this number, etc.

I used to be polite with telemarketers when they managed to get me on the phone. (This was back in the days when I used to pick up the phone.) I imagined some poor college student, working that horrible shit job trying to make a little extra money, or some single mother abandoned by the ne'er-do-well she married trying to make ends meet. Fuck'em. Go work at Wendy's. "I'm not interested. Never call this number again. Take me off your list."

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