We get very little physical mail anymore. The bills are all either automatically paid or I pay them electronically, and in either case I simply receive an email letting me know either that the bill is due or that I’ve been debited. I do, however, participate in the US Postal Service’s “Informed Daily Digest,” where I get an email with pictures of my mail, so that, in the event something important is coming, I can tell Mary to bring it in, because otherwise she simply trashes it. So I’m working off that.
One of the pieces of mail I received on Thursday (the last day I got a notification) was something from AT&T in Carol Stream, Illinois, meaning it was some kind of a marketing letter. In fact, I can see “Take advantage of this opportunity – CALL TODAY” through the envelope, which is a guarantee that we won’t, whatever it is.
We have our cellular service through AT&T and that’s it. I’ve stayed with Comcast for my Internet service, more because I’ve heard lousy things about AT&T’s service, we have no need for a landline, and the last thing we need or want is DirecTV, because even if it’s satellite they’ll give us a couple hundred channels that we aren’t going to watch anyway, so I see no need to spend a lot of money for it. Sometimes they have special offers where you can get a free smartphone for opening a new line, which we won’t do because we already have two. They had a 2-for-1 deal a while back and I thought we could get away with getting the two phones without starting a new line. I called and tried to talk them into it, even suggesting that Verizon would give us two phones to move our service there (which would have been a ginormous pain in the ass), but they just laughed. Not just a chuckle or a chortle, I mean the sort of condescending, derisive laughter you get when you try to hit on a woman with your fly open.
I don’t even know why I even have a phone anymore. The only calls I get anymore are robocalls from what sounds like a 12-year-old girl, who I’ve dubbed Robotween, and phishing calls from people claiming to be from the IRS who I’m sure are closer to Mumbai than to Washington, DC…
Which reminds me of the time I had to call a client, a hospital in the western suburbs of Chicago. Evidently I transposed two digits and got the following message from an answering machine:
This is ________ and I don’t give a s— if you don’t like talking to these machines, I AIN’T HOME! And this AIN’T the f—ing hospital!
One more: my in-laws had a phone number that ended in 6643. There was a carryout place in the neighborhood whose number ended in 0043. People dialing the carryout place would mistake the letter O (which was on the 6) for the number 0, and my in-laws would get calls for the carryout place all the time. One night, after getting about a half-dozen calls for the carryout place, my father-in-law took the guy’s order and told him it would be ready in twenty minutes.
Maybe Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced “boo-kay”) should have tried that…
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