A year ago when I went into the store to buy a cellphone, I never could’ve known the trouble it would cause. It was my first awesome phone, rather than a passably cool phone. I was excited, especially given that I’d spent several years of my life cellphoneless and cut off from the majority of the world.
And then the calls started coming. I thought, naively, that they would stop – that they would stop after a certain amount of time had passed and all the people trying to find you, or your wife, or your brother (or whoever the hell you all are) realized that your number had changed.
They never stopped.
I do not appreciate having to have a spam-blocker app on my phone because of someone else.
I do not appreciate having to keep my phone on vibrate so the Doctor Who theme song that is my ringtone doesn’t cause my husband (or my sister) to wreck their cars while I’m riding with them. It’s always calls for you. People do not call me on my phone. People call you on my phone.
I do not appreciate waking up to a recording on my voicemail telling me that, if I am not you, to delete the message immediately without listening to it.
I do not like picking up my phone and hearing a recording about tax debt every other day.
I do not like vision centers calling about appointments for the female end of this trio of same-last-name-entity. Ten times in a year. How bad is your freaking eyesight?
I do not like all these recordings in general, as it gives me no one to speak with to inform them, “YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER.”
But they do not have the wrong number, do they?
No, because a person called – it sounded like a creditor or someone of that nature – and had a very interesting talk with me about how you’d given them this number JUST A WEEK AGO. I do not like being interrogated (asked my name on my own freaking phone) or asked, “Are you sure you don’t know [NAME].”
Yes, I am sure I do not know you. But I do know that . . . I’m quite positive I hate you.
I suppose this is what I get for being picky and asking for a phone number with as many even numbers as possible. This is what I’m going to call karmic-jackassery. It is my own fault, in that way.
You shall go unnamed here, but I hope on all that is holy that I never run into you (or that I never figure out who you all are past your names) because I’m quite certain I would throw something at all three of your faces. No, I wouldn’t really, but I like to think about it sometimes.
STOP GIVING MY NUMBER TO PEOPLE YOU OWE MONEY.
Have a wonderful life.
PS) By the sound of the voice of the man I spoke with very recently . . . he was not happy. I suggest you attempt – VERY HARD – to get your ducks in a row. It seems like you’ve got quite a lot of them. Thank you, so very much, for sending so many of those ducks my way. My life is so much more complete and wonderful because of all the little duckies quacking around.