Phone
Calls From Miami
Do
you recall that last column
I wrote - the one about Dave
Barry? Remember how I tried
to gently suggest that perhaps,
maybe just maybe, he might
be a little out of touch with
the younger generation? Remember
how I also hoped you wouldn't
tell Dave because I'm pretty
sure he could still kick my
butt?
Okay,
okay, you're right - I said
he was old. Now hold that
thought for a moment while
I tell you about how I finally
got "Caller ID."
It
might have been the incessant
stream of calls all day, every
day from credit card companies
trying to offer me a credit
protection plan that, as a
self-employed singer/songwriter,
I'm not eligible for. But
then again, it may have been
the annoying people who dare
to call the house of a musician
before 9AM and don't bother
to leave a message. I suspect
it was mostly because I wanted
to be like my cool friends
and just answer the phone
"Hey Sean" when
Sean called. Whatever the
reason, I finally decided
that I had lived without "Caller
ID" long enough.
So
even though I'm still smarting
from that whole DSL fiasco
(don't ask) I called my local
phone company and told them
I wanted "Caller ID."
Now
you would think that when
you call a business and tell
them that you want to spend
more money, that it would
be enough. Well, you would
be wrong. My phone company
saw it as a chance to attempt
to sell me other services
in a package, like unlimited
*69. *69, of course, automatically
calls back the last number
that called you, allowing
you to "never miss a
call."
I
sighed and explained patiently
that since I would have "Caller
ID," I wouldn't need
to use *69 because I would
know exactly who last called
me.
Isn't
ANYONE at this company thinking
these things through?
Anyway,
I finally get my caller ID
(and nothing else) and life
is grand. I now ignore the
credit card companies and,
best of all, I can really
freak my mother out by answering
"Hi Mom!" when she
calls. It messes with her
mind.
So
the other day - the day after
Ramblings hit the internet
- I get home and there's one
missed call with no message.
I check the number and it's
area code (305).
Now
you may or may not know that
area code (305) more or less
covers everything from Miami
to Key West and since I know
a few folks in Key West, I
double check the number and...
it's not them. So I try calling,
but whatever phone it is doesn't
accept incoming calls. Hmmm.
Next, thanks to the wonders
of the information age, I
do a reverse search on the
number and learn that the
call came from in or around
Miami.
It's
exactly then I remember that
I know at least one other
person in the (305) area code.
Do
you remember that Dave Barry
column I wrote? Did I ever
mention where Barry lives?
Yup, that's right: Miami
I
get paranoid that maybe, just
maybe, someone forwarded Dave
the column and now he wants
to track me down. I spent
the better part of 24 hours
wondering, worrying, trying
to figure out what I'd say
if it really was Dave Barry.
By the time the phone rang
the next day and that little
(305) showed up on the screen,
I was ready for my confrontation
with the aging Mr. Barry.
"Hello?!"
I said, as confidently as
I could manage.
"Hi,
Mr. Totten?" a male voice
said at the other end of the
line.
"Yes."
"We're
calling from your credit card
company to offer you automatic
enrollment in our Credit Protection
Plan...."
So
glad I have that Caller ID
to make my life easier.
This
column © 2002 Lee Totten.
|
