March 26th, 2006

yoga FLAME!

I hate people.

Some truly ancient woman just called me up, demanded to speak to someone who very definitely wasn't me - first in a language I don't know and did not recognize for sure (Creole?), and then in extremely heavily accented english - and cussed me up one side and down the other when I told her she had the wrong number. "No I DON'T! This is HIS NUMBER!" We actually argued this point for a few sentences before I gave up and hung up on her. "No, I'm sorry, this is my phone." "NO IT'S NOT, YOU SON OF A BITCH! I CALLED JIMMY! THIS IS JIMMY'S NUMBER!"

How fucking old do you have to get not to understand the principle that if you call a number, and the person who answers the phone isn't the one you wish to speak to, it's not that person's fault? I mean for fuck's sake even if you want to do the all-too-human "shift the blame away from self" thing, you'd be blaming the phone company, not the person who answers.

What the fuck does she think, that I was lurking evilly, just waiting for her to pick up the phone and call her great-grandchild or whoever, to hijack and intercept the call when it went out, so that I could tell her she had the wrong number?

Yes, I know. She's fucking old. But seriously, swear to god, not that I don't already want to die before I get old and decrepit, but PLEASE FUCKING GOD LET ME BE DEAD BEFORE I'M THAT INSANE.
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    now-silenced cell phone... vibrating on the tabletop
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