Fun with zombies

So, this tale begins with a merger between two telecom companies and something called voLTE (which stands for “voice over Long Term Evolution”, if you can dig that).

My cell phone carrier was the company that gotten eaten by the merger (by default, every business merger has a winner and a loser) and the company that won the merger uses this voLTE shit. The winning company published a list of the losing company’s phones that would work with voLTE, AND OF COURSE… mine was not on the list. Time to get a new phone, goddammit. I hate cell phones in general, and I truly despise new cell phones in particular.

Living in the middle of nowhere, I decided to drive to a nearby metropolis and purchase a new phone in person and have the salespeople explain the workings of this new phone to my poor ignorant self. To make a long story short, they had the phone I decided to get in stock, but it was in some color called “Sissy 12 year old girl unicorn sparkle” and I wanted a black one. So they ordered me a black one, shipped to my address – and please bring it to the store when you get it so we can pair it to your car and show you all the fabulous features and so on and so forth – which means I get to go home, wait for a box to arrive, then drive back to the metropolis.

Which I did. To describe what happened in the store when I got there with the new phone would beggar belief, so we’ll just leave that part out of this story and say that after a week or so of resetting the phone, I think I finally know what some of the buttons do. But that’s not what this story is about. This story is about me getting a new phone number to go along with the new phone.

When you get a “new” number, you are getting someone’s old number, and chances are they didn’t give up their old number for fun. (My last “new” number belonged to some asshole who owes everyone in the United States money, including the government of said United States, and they want him badly for defaulted student loans. For the three plus years I had that number, I got calls for this dickhead looking to collect money. I would explain to the callers that the number in question now belonged to me, some of the callers apologized for calling and said they would remove the number from their database, but other callers basically said “fuck you, this is the only number we have and we will keep right on calling”. I do need to mention that I reached out to a friend in the business of enforcing laws who actually tracked the prior owner down. He shows 2 active address (one is his mother’s house) AND he has NO current phone numbers in his name AND he is still giving out his old number whenever he is required to give a number.

So anyway, the “new” number I got seems to have been owned by a woman who uses two different names (I know, shocking, isn’t it?) and since we are coming up on an election… well, I have been getting a LOT of text messages, and I want to use just one of them to illustrate the fun I am having.

The “Okay thanks, have a good day” went on for well over an hour. Spam? In any event, I have gotten texts from Greenpeace, the NAACP, the Sierra Club, some group called Care in Action, and several other organizations I have never heard of, but I am reasonably certain George Soros is underwriting them. They all get the same basic reply as above. Usually that ends the conversation, but the NAACP wanted to know exactly how I planned to vote (mail, early-in-person or in person on election day). Now that doesn’t make me too paranoid at all. And by the way, I told them “all of the above” then blocked their number.

So this is how I am entertaining myself these days, and if, by chance, some woman is getting a ration of shit mail from the good folks at the NAACP or Greenpeace, well that makes it even better.


Woe is me. Everyone hates me.

This Post Has 3 Comments

  1. Best spam I have ever seen, and I have seen more goddamned spam that 10 chinamen in a dog gutting plant. Let me tell you, I know my spam.

  2. FoodisSpam

    I love as much spam stuffed up my backside as a persian donkey-fucker. It makes me feel loved for the first time in my life.
    No more cold, hard plastic dildoes for me. From now on, I want the warm meaty goodness of some microwaved Spam in my poo hole.

  3. HandsomeMork

    I got an assload of “Happy Birthday” text messages for this person. She is either a world class slacker or she is on the run/hiding from someone or something.

    One of the texters identified herself as Bria’s aunt. I updated all the texting parties that this was no longer her phone number and wished them success in finding their quarry.

    As Arthur Conan Doyle did NOT say, “Quickly Watson, the game’s afoot!” And since I am mentioning Doyle, in the summer of 1967 I was spending part of that season with my spinster Aunt, who had a fairly decent library in her den. I discovered and devoured the Complete Sherlock Holmes that summer and would recommend that any literate person with some free time investigate the world’s greatest fictional detective.

    This particular aunt had an out-sized influence on me in my early years, She sent me the Complete Clemons/Twain when I was 10, a Bennett Cerf anthology, The collected writings of Verne, Dumas and any number of biographies. Having no children of her own, she invested her time in her brother’s offspring, much to my benefit.

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