Saturday, June 14, 2014




See the thing is, my phones don’t work proper. I say phones ‘cause there’s three o’ them in a cordless package these days. You don’t get single ones no more. I guess they figure you gotta be within arm’s length of any o’ them contraptions in case somebody wants to talk to you. By now of course them cordless phones are a little out o’ date, given all the cell phones an’ other paraphernalia, but then, we ourselves are a little outa date too.

We didn’t realize there was anythin’ wrong with them for the longest time. You could still dial out an’ talk to whoever without a problem so there was no excuse to question them. But, technology bein’ what it is, gets a little technical now an’ then. When you call somebody an’ a machine answers, givin’ you a choice of what department you want to talk to, they tell you to press one for this department, press two for somethin’ else an’ so on. Well I could press buttons ‘til the cows come home an’ nothin’ would happen. Even the machine on the other end was gettin’ frustrated. I was expectin’ to hear a pile o’ indiscrete expletives from it.

It all became clear when our security system wouldn’t let anybody into the apartment. I said to the missus, “I’ll go down an’ phone up an’ you buzz me in.”

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll do ‘er. But don’t forget your key card, just in case.”

So I go downstairs an’ dial up. The missus pushed the button on the phone to let me in. There’s a gurglin’ sound like what yer stomach makes after you’ve eaten a piece of rhubarb an’ strawberry pie for the first time this year. An’ the damn door won’t open.

The big box store where we got the dad blamed thing from don’t know nothin’ about problems with them things neither so they give me a one – eight hunnert number to call the manufacturer. Holy cheese an’ crackers! It took at least an hour to get through to the right customer service department an’ when I finally did they say; “If the equipment you are calling about is more than two years old, there is no service on it. You will be required to pay seven dollars and fifty cents for your question.” Well somethin’ like that. I should have my credit card ready so they can charge me.

I had to hang up pretty quick ‘cause all of the sudden the question that popped into my head had nothin’ to do with telephones. So I decided to look them up on the internet. Wouldn’t you know it, they’re bleedin’ money hand over fist, an’ seven dollars an’ fifty cents ain’t goin’ to save their bacon. Maybe if they was to concentrate on servicin’ their mickey mouse telephones instead of  collectin’ seven dollars an’ fifty cents per question, they might not be hemmoragin’ so bad. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.

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