My analysis of the phone bill in the last installment caused me to once again ponder the age-old question of why I have to have a phone anyway. I really don’t use it much, and of the calls I do get, the ratio of junk calls to calls from actual friends is probably about 80-20. Sadly, this ratio reflects the situation even after the Do Not Call List and our phone number change increased the odds in favor of our friends.
For those who missed out on the latter exciting chapter of our lives due to my remissness in blogging: our old phone number was, seemingly, inextricably associated with a Michael Flowers, a gentleman neither of us has had the pleasure of meeting, much to the disappointment of the many and various individuals who called here looking for him. The phone co. finally admitted that they were unable to remedy the situation and issued us a new number, so far Flowers-free.
So we are now rid of many of our telemarketer friends and the elusive Michael Flowers, but we find that the following are still more frequent callers than our friends and relations:
1. Pre-recorded voices, informing us that we’ve won fabulous prizes in contests we did not enter.
2. SBC, to whom I must explain for the nth time that we get internet access for free, hence to make a change worthwhile to us, they would have to pay us to take internet access from them. Not that I’m averse to that.
3. A loud buzzing noise.
4. People who want to talk to “Amy.”
I’m beginning to get curious about this Amy person. Today a recorded voice called to remind me of a doctor’s appointment, which was not for either of us. When I called the doctor’s office to explain that the call had come to the wrong person, the nice lady first asked me if I was sure I wasn’t a patient, then asked “Is this–Amy?” No, I replied, but she sounded a little skeptical. I don’t blame her; I’m beginning to believe that Amy is more real than I am. At least, she gets more calls.
One of these days, things will start turning up in places where I never put them. Then, things will begin to appear that I don’t recognize–articles of clothing in my dresser drawers, kitchen utensils that I don’t know how to use. Finally, one day, I’ll round the corner into the living room and there she’ll be: lounging on the couch, looking not unlike me but not me; and reading a book, but instead of an Agatha Christie mystery it’ll be The Five People You Meet In Heaven or something.
And that’ll be the end. Suddenly this blog will be the source of vibrant yet scathing reviews of art and literature, and brilliant and incisive political commentary, instead of the current muddle. I don’t know what will become of Andy as a result of this metamorphosis; but if I start getting calls for a Chad or an Alfonse, then I’ll know.
I believe Andy’s new alter-ego will be named “Rudy”.
I have not had a regular phone for 3 years now, a and I don’t regret it. Obviously it’s not going to work for everyone, but my cell phone rarely (once or twice a year, if that) receives unsolicited phone calls. That alone makes it worth it to me, even if it costs a little more than a landline would.