This Week's Get Outta Town

(July 9) Yesterday was a horrible day for me. I’m still bummed that my kid had to go back to his mother’s house, and it was payroll day for me at work. If that wasn’t enough to give me a headache, my day was constantly interrupted with insane people asking stupid questions.
Finally, the day ended and I headed home. Not having eaten all day, I decided to call my favorite Chinese restaurant, Kowloon, for some Szechwan chicken. Twenty minutes later, the food is delivered and I’m about to sit down and eat when the phone rings.
”Mr. Hudson?”
“This is him.”
“Hi, I’m Stupid Twithead from Numbnutts Mortgage, and I’m calling to talk to you about your mortgage. Did you know that interest rates are at an all-time low?”
“I told you last week that I wasn’t interested, and that was the same answer I gave you the other 20 times you called. So please go to hell.”
I hang up, and start unloading the sack of food. I’ve just grabbed a plate when the phone rang again.
“Could I speak to the woman of the house?”
“Uh, the hooker left ten minutes ago. Is this her pimp?”
“What? Oh, you’re joking.”
“No, she really did just leave.”
“Ok…well, I’m from Ameircan Magazines, Inc. Would you be interested in a five year subscription to Oprah Magazine?”
“I don’t need to look at that cow every month.”
“What if I told you that 2% of the proceeds goes to supplying poor children with American flags?”
At this point I start singing the Sex Pistols “Anarchy in the UK”, but I change the UK to US. She finally gets the hint and hangs up.
Finally, I start eating. I make it ten minutes before the phone rings one more time.
”Mr. Hudson?”
“This is Clem Wanker calling from the American Veterans Association. Do you have time to take a survey?”
“This will just take a few minutes. On a scale of one to ten, could you please rate the importance of owning a firearm?”
“Ten? Good. On a scale of one to ten, could you rate Tom Daschle’s level of patriotism?”
“I see where this is going. Goodbye.”
“Mr. Hudson, please don’t hang up. We only have thirty more questions.”
“I don’t have time for this. My heroin is cooking on the stove.”
“I see. How many flags do you have hanging in your home?”
“Three French flags, an anarchy flag, and of course, I’m always waving my freak flag.”
“Thank you for your time.”
At this point my food is cold. Of course, once I stop eating the phone stops ringing. My anger doesn’t go away, however. Later in the evening, I decide to put my name on the Do Not Call Registry. Why I need to do this is beyond me as I’m already paying the phone company a few bucks a month to keep my name anonymous.
So I go to the website and enter my phone number as instructed. Unfortunately, one must give their email address so I’m sure I’ll be inundated with spam for the next few years.
While I’m at the site, however, I read the fine print. Signing up does not relieve you of all unwanted calls. And the damned program doesn’t even start until October!
Here’s who can still call: Political organizations, charities, telephone surveyors, phone companies, insurance companies, and companies with which you have an existing business relationship. So I’ll still continue to get calls from Tom’s political friends and enemies, telephone features that I have no use for, the Y’s never-ending clothes drive (who have called for over ten years despite the fact that I’ve never said yes), and I’m sure the mortgage people will weasel into one of the categories. And the “existing business relationship” category will probably be the loophole that allows everyone else.
So while the deal looks good in the press release, it probably won’t stop the bastards from bothering me. And since it only applies to home phone numbers, I’m still going to have to deal with the 9 am American Express sales pitch that I receive at my office every single morning. Or the couple of dozen “out of area” calls that have no response when you answer. They can all go to hell…at least I’ll have fun tormenting them.


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