I Got A Phone Call. A Phone Call From Hell.

I think I’m a disappointment to obscene callers.

Not that I want to be an appointment for them and not that I have tons of experience receiving or sending them, but my spidey sense tells me that somehow I’ve not cooperated properly with a disturbed mentality when I hang up the phone and go back to drooling in to my pillow. Cooperated probably isn’t the right word. It’s a failure to cooperate, but less emotional – like a business forfeiture. I don’t play along. I don’t get scared. I really don’t get that angry, because as obscene callers go, mine have been on the polite side of the Great Scales of Craziness. One, maybe two hang-ups and they give up. I had a regular caller my first year of college. Once or twice a week in the wee hours (why do they never call in the daytime anyway?), he’d call up and say the things he wanted to do with my dainties. After the third week or so, I said something along the lines of ‘dude, you need help that I can’t give, but try this number – they’re specialists in diseased minds.’ And that ended that. A recent one called me by name and said he’d found my name on the bathroom wall at Walmart. Yes, I have officially been hit on by the Markdown Smiley Face! I can’t wait to add that to my list of accomplishments. Age 22, graduated with honors from the University of Tennessee. Age 42, became Lower Priced Sex Goddess to bargain hunters everywhere!

I just have one thing to say to my discount admirer: caller id.