Can You Hear Me Now, Asshole?

The Caller ID said "cell phone."

9:30 p.m.:

The phone rings.

Wife: "Hello?"

*nothing*

Wife: "Heeellloooooooo?"
*cricket*

Me: "Nobody?"

Wife: "No. That's the third time today. It's been happening all week."

I hate when the madame of the local brothel just calls and hangs up.

Jesus, woman...you have my Visa number.

WHY MUST YOU STALK ME?!?

Um...

Maybe it's not her.


9:45 p.m.:

The phone rings again.

Caller ID: Cell Phone

Wife: "Hello?"

This time...there are people talking.

They're on speaker phone.

We sat there listening with our phone also on speaker...trying to figure out who this asshole was.

The call was all broken up. But we could tell it was a guy and some woman talking.

Me: "Is that Rob?"

Wife: "No."

True.

If it was Rob, we'd probably be listening to some weird threesome or orgy or some male experimentation with anal beads.

I was jealous of Rob...

...up until that last point.



We listened for five minutes, until I heard the guy say:

"..this one has all the same features..."

Sonofabitch.

PAYTON!!!

My daughter, Payton.

This was her fault.

I'm in the middle of switching jobs. My old job provided me my own cell phone.

My new job does not.

On Sunday, I took Payton to the Verizon store to get a new one.

(Verizon Store Motto: "Can you wait an hour? Good.")

About 45 minutes into our wait for the next available Sales Representative making minimum wage...

...I noticed that Payton was playing with the cell phones on display.

Deftly entering our phone number into their memories.

Sonofabitch.



This is going to go on 7 days a week until the store f*cking closes.

I need to call Verizon and have them wipe the numbers out of the phones.

But I might let them keep my in-laws' number in them...

...because Payton entered that one, too.

My Presidential Candidate Makes a Goooooood Chicken

(WARNING: LONG, ANGRY POST TODAY...but bear with me...there are some good tips in here)

Let's get started.

I'm considering moving to Russia.

...And not just because my Red Bull and vodkas would be cheaper.

You see...

I live in New Hampshire (motto: "Have you banged a cow lately?").

...and Tuesday is the first Presidential primary here.

Yip-f*cking-pee.

This means that I'm fielding no less than four phone calls a night from brainwashed robots and horny interns working the phones for the "candidates".

I HATE this.

If you've read my "Meet Ben, My Stalker from Bangalore" post (oldie but goodie), then you'll know that my tolerance these days for being on the phone with stupid f*cksh*ts is at a bare minimum.

Lately, the "Stupid F*ckSh*ts" moniker has since been expanded to include Presidential campaign workers.

Stupid proponents of the Democratic process...

Don't they know I'm TRYING TO WATCH "SCRUBS?"



Anyway...

My mailbox is full of giant flyers from rich pricks vying for a vote they won't get.

Romney.

Hillary.

McCain.

Macy's.

...Wait...that last one's just a coupon.

I think.

Honestly, I haven't been paying much attention to the candidates so there may be a "Macys" candidate running.

..but I'm going to bet that there's no "Bed Bath and Beyond" guy going for the nomination...THAT one HAS to be a coupon.



The most exposure I've had to what these jackasses are representing is when Rudy Giuliani walked past me during the town's Christmas parade.

"Nice coat," I thought.

It swayed my vote a little.

...I mean...

...it was a REALLY nice coat.

So, these stupid fuckshit volunteers are calling my house at all hours of the night.



At first, I was cordial:

Caller: "Hi, I'm calling from the Hillary Clin..."

Me: "Not on your f*cking life."

*click*

Then, the calls kept coming...

Caller: "Hi. I'm calling on behalf of Ron Paul..."

Me: "Who the f*ck is Ron Paul?"

Caller: "well sir, Ron Paul is a candidate for..."

Me: "Never heard of him. Will he legalize brothels?"

*pause*

Caller: "...um...well..."

Me: "CHRIST! You don't even know his platform and you want me to vote for him?!"

Caller: "Well, sir, Ron Paul believes that.."

Me: "Oh, wait. Ron Paul. Okay. Sure. I know who you're talking about."

Caller: "Well sir, Ron would like your vote..."

Me: "VOTE?!? I ALREADY own his 'Miracle Chicken Rottisserie' and some 'Spray-on hair'...which doesn't f*cking WORK by the way. Maybe you can tell him THAT..."

Caller: "Sir, that's Ron Popeil."

Me: "Huh. Is HE running? I'd vote for him. That thing makes a GOOD chicken."

*click*

Jerk.



So, I got another TWO CALLS from Hillary yesterday.

...AND some people from her campaign ACTUALLY CAME TO MY HOUSE.

I think she's stalking me...

...looking for some hot, New England midget-lovin'.

The First Call:

Caller: "Hi, I'm calling from Hillary's campaign and was wondering if you'll be giving her your vote."

Me: "Yes. I'm voting for her in the category of 'Best Cankles on a Candidate.'"

I didn't say that, but now wish I had thought of it. Although, I haven't seen John McCain's cankles, so he might have the edge here.



Me: "I'm not voting for her, but my wife is."

The caller's tone now sounds like she's found her long lost vibrator and the batteries are STILL GOOD:

"EXCELLENT! Tell her that she and Bill will be appearing at..."

Me: "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Bill's coming, TOO?"

Caller: "Yes, sir. Bill will be there."

Me: "Is he bringing Monica? I'd go if he brought Monica. Is she coming?"

Caller (losing her vibrator tone): "No sir, Monica won't be there."

Me: "Then I'm not going. I'd go to see Monica....I'd like to see her."

Caller: "Thank you."

*click*



JESUS.

You know, for liberals, they're SO f*cking uptight.

Wife after I hang up: "Not your best work."

Sorry.

I'll do better next time.

So I did:

Second Hillary Call:

This time...I don't say "Hello." I wait for the caller to talk to see if I recognize them.

Caller: "Hello? Hello? I'm calling from Hillary Clinton's campaign..."

Bingo.

It's at this point that I take on the accent and voice of a female from Guatemala.

I tell the guy that I LOVE Hillary...and I will vote for her at least SEVEN times on Tuesday.

I explain that I will go in...vote...come out...go back in with a different name...vote again...and do this SEVEN times.

He does not dissuade me from performing this felony on Hillary's behalf.

Caller: "She'll be at the High School on..."

I then excitedly tell him that I actually WORK at the high school, and clean the toilets there.

I then proceed to tell him about the size and messiness of a teenager's bowel movements and ask if he's ever seen one.

He hasn't.


I then tell him that they keep me locked in the bathroom at the school, so unless Hillary will be pooing, I might not get to see her.

He's not sure if she'll need to go to the bathroom.

He thanks me, and hangs up.

I LOVE DOING THIS.

I've also decided to answer the phone from now on in Spanish if:

1) I don't recognize the phone number, or..
2) There IS no phone number (i.e., phone says "Incoming Call")

So in those two circumstances, I pick up the phone and say:

"Hola!"

(I believe this means "pinto bean" in Spanish)



If it's a friend, they'll say "hola" back.

If it's not, they just go and start their shpeel.

This is where the fun starts.

Me: "Hola!"

Caller: "Hello, sir. Is Mr. Rodney (last name butchered to some ridiculous extent) available?"

Huh. Not a friend.

Me (louder): "HOLA!! HOLA!!"

Caller: "Sir, I'm calling from the local chapter of.."

Me: "Ocho."

This either means the "number eight" in Spanish, or is the clinical name for toenail fungus.



If the caller IS Spanish, or understands Spanish, or works for that company that makes the toenail fungus medication, they know I'm f*cking with them at this point.

But...sometimes they don't.

Caller: "Um...Hello? Yes, I'm calling on behalf of the..."

Me: "OCHO!! Hola? Chimichanga!"

(I have a very limited knowledge of Spanish)

*click*

Try it. It's fun.

The only problem is that I feel guilty doing this to people who realize that my last name is BLATANTLY French...

...or actual charities that really need money...or blood...or whatever...

...but I get over it.

Luckily, the jackass phone volunteers who work for the candidates usually don't realize this...

...as in order to volunteer your free time for what amounts to "Telemarketing a Millionaire"...

...you really can't be all that smart in the first place...

...and deserve to be "Ocho'd."



Take this.

Learn from it.

Use it.

Go now.

I'm heading back to my plate of delicious chicken.

Thanks, Ron Paul.

I mean, Popeil.

Meet Ben, my stalker from Bangalore

I knew his name couldn’t possibly have been Ben, based on the fact that he sounded exactly like Gandhi.

This happens a lot – telemarketing companies outsourcing their after-hours calls to India, where the men make up names like “John” and “Ben”, and the women are all “Cindy.” Just for fun, I’m going to start randomly dialing homes in India speaking in my worst Boston accent, and saying that my name is “Ravineesh”. Let's see how THEY like it.

What royally pissed me off about Ben’s call wasn’t the fact that he was blatantly lying to me about his name (which was most likely Ishwanamar Taboule Patel), but rather the fact that it was 8:30 p.m, and my number has long been on the “Do Not Call List.”

So, I did what I normally do:

Me: “Hello?”
Ishwanamar: “Hello. My name is Ben and..”
Me: “I’m not interested, thank you.”
*click*

Pretty simple. I’m polite at the end with the “thank you”, at least.

I started to sit back down.

*ring*

The caller id said “Incoming Call”…not “private”, not an actual number, just “Incoming call.”

Me: “Hello?”
Ishwanamar: “Hello. My name is Ben and…”
Me: “Ben…Ben…I told you I’m not interested. Please don’t call here again, Ben.”
*click*

Two seconds later, the phone rings again.

I’m astounded. This guy has some seriously large shawarmas.

It’s Ben again. AGAIN. He’s not giving up. And what’s really starting to piss me off now, is that he’s doing the same, “Hello. My name is Ben…” shpeel. Like he didn’t know he JUST called me.

I told him that I still didn’t want him to call, and that I now wanted to speak to his Supervisor. He immediately put on “Roger” (really? Roger?), who was obviously not his supervisor, but more likely the guy in the cube next to him.

At this point, I’m mad. I’m telling Roger that I do NOT want him to call me again.

He says, and I swear this is true, “I WILL call you again.”

?!?

How do you respond to that?!

“No you won’t,” I said.

“Yes, I will, “ says Roger.

WTF. Now, I’m in a literal first-grade verbal tug-of-war with Roger, the adamant Indian about whether or not he’s going to call me. He tells me that he’s going to continue to call me, because I am NOT on a “Do Not Call” list. I ask to talk to his supervisor – he says that he’s it. I ask for the company address – no dice. I ask for the parent company – nada.

I’m at the mercy of this guy and his stalking New Delhi horde, apparently. I’m still yelling into the phone, when he hangs up on me.

I start to sit down…

*ring*

NO WAY. NO F’ING WAY.

I pick up the phone….

“Hello. My name is Ben and….”

I was frustrated…I was tired…and I did what immediately came to mind…

I invented a language.

“Alooo? Pink a ling a dangle? Alooooo? Misa pinga doodle! Aloooo?”

Ben’s flustered and confused…”um…Hello?...my name is…”

Me: “Binga bonga? Binga linga doowap? Alooooo?”

Ben: “Hello?...Hello?...my name is…”

Me: “Aloooo? Somanakabeeside! Aloooo?”

*click*

Ben did not call back…nor did Roger, or Chrissy or Cindy.

Score one for Ravineesh.