1999mar19. [the phone rings. the answering machine picks up the same time I do, and begins recording.]
Me: Hello?
Jenny: Hello make I speak to
Jeff Stendec?
Me: Yeah, who is this?
Jenny: This
is Jenny Lastname calling on behalf of AT&T ...
Me: Oh, I’m sorry!
Bye! [click]
[the answering machine still is recording, and keeps the line open. Jenny is unaware]
Jenny: I don’t get that one ... I don’t understand ... okay,
when someone goes ... uh, may I speak with Jeff Stendec ... Yeah, this is he.
Who’s this? My name is Jenny Lastname calling on behalf of from AT&T ...
[nasally voice] OH, I’M SORRY! BYE! [end nasally voice] What do you do?
Unknown: He hung up on you.
Jenny: Yeah.
Unknown:
[unintelligble]
Jenny: Retard.
Me (picking up phone):
”Excuse me? I fucking HEARD THAT!” [click]
Jenny is apparently the last person in the world to find out that some people don’t want to be called by a telemarketer during dinner. Perhaps this is all my fault. Perhaps I should have been more excited. Perhaps Jenny should have enunciated and/or spelled her last name so I could properly report her to her superiors when I send in my chopped-up AT&T credit card and/or sic some telemarketers on her since we’re all supposed to just drop everything and run to the phone, breathless and estatic that WE were chosen to receive a call from JENNY, THE TELEMARKETER FROM HEAVEN.
You can’t win with AT&T. If they smell money in the air, they’ll hound you until you die. I’ve asked nicely, I’ve cursed up a storm, but they just won’t goddamn leave me alone.
It’s time for revenge – CARDHOUSE STYLE