What part of “Do Not”…

March 13, 2008 at 12:39 pm (That's not funny...)

…do you not understand?!

If someone makes it clear that they want to avoid something, that it bothers them, irritates the fuck out of them, makes them want to rip the vocal chords right out of the offender, wouldn’t you think “smart people” could figure it out? I do. I expect people to honor the spirit of the request, whether it be the No Soliciting sign on my door, or the way I avoid street urchins with my averted gaze and shaking head.

So what’s stirred up the beehive in my butt this morning?

Phone solicitors. (Spoken in Eric Cartman’s gravest voice, like when he talks about hippies overthrowing South Park.)

We have been on the Do Not Call list since its inception. When we first bought the house, we fielded 20-30 calls a day. Since our answering machine was broke, and the whole call-screening thing is something we try not to do out of politeness, we stuck with it. Eventually we got it down to 5-10 calls a day. God bless whoever invented the rape whistle.

When the Do Not Call list became active, I was there the first day. After a month, we only had to dodge the occasional relative. No early morning calls, no running from the bathroom half-zipped, hoping for a date-call and getting some asshole who wants to know how I’m doing before he wants to sell me windshield chip repair on a car I don’t own. “I’m holding my dick and trying not to have a stroke from anger, that’s how I’m fucking doing!!”

Blessed quiet.

Then something happened. About a month ago, the calls started up again. They were from my brother-in-law’s bank, so I assumed they were official, and did my best to give them info to reach him. After about two weeks, I learned that it was a telemarketer pimping credit cards, and I have been slowly going apoplectic on their ass ever since.

Monday they called TEN times over the course of the day. I politely told them we were on the DNC list, and to please honor it. Response? “Since we do business with him, it’s not illegal for us to call him.”

Where’s my fucking rape whistle?

I decided to investigate. I knew if I could document evidence against the callers, I could get them a major fine. So I tried this tack: “Your name is Jason? What’s your last name, Jason? I want to make sure you get your commission. And what’s the name of the company you work for?”


But that’s too much aggravation, so I looked further. I started by checking my phone number status. I entered my cell phone number, and then checked the land line, the pesky one. Wh-wha-what? Our number is no longer blocked? How in the HELL did that happen?

Needless to say, I re-registered immediately. But it will take thirty days for it to be fully in effect, so I will practice my anger management (or get a buttload of aggression out) for the next month. I’m patiently, politely telling all callers to call us only if it’s a legitimate problem, that we don’t want any “special offers.” And if they don’t comply, there’s always the rape whistle.

Actually, I may go price one of those shaving can-sized compressed air horns

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