Telemarketers

One thing I hadn’t fully appreciated the importance of, moving-wise, was the fallout of changing my phone number. Getting a new phone number is one of those minor pains in the arse. Or, at least, it ought to be a minor pain in the arse. What I had not accounted for was that I’d suddenly not be on the state and national Do Not Call lists. Ugh!

I have been inundated with calls from The Chicago Tribune, The Indianapolis Star, The Herald-Times, MCI, and some others I’ve forgotten. The aforementioned stand out for their persistence. MCI has been calling about every two hours since last Wednesday. The newspapers have each been calling a least twice a day. MCI is the one that’s about to shred my last nerve, though. They called at the crack of dawn this morning. I know Mondays are work days for most people, but it was my one day to sleep in this week, and I was exhausted and really needing to play catch-up. Assholes!

Of course, I re-signed up for both DNC lists, but they won’t go into effect until early next year. Hrmf. The only halfway positive thing I can say is thank God for caller ID. Even so, I’m about ready to turn the ringers off, just so I don’t have to deal with it. It certainly does not help that I think the telephone is one of the most loathsome inventions EVAR. Really. I friggin’ hate the telephone.