My Roots Are Showing

Commentary: No holds barred

Modern communication challenges good sense

I have a love-hate relationship with the telephone company. Ma Bell keeps changing, and I keep trying to leave things alone because I know -- no matter what she says -- there's always some glitch that will have me on the phone with her for a couple of hours straightening things out.

This time was to be different, she assured. Small businesses were encouraged to transfer their landlines to cellular lines. My neighbors on Main Street were switching. And if I didn't switch, my landline rate was going to rise higher than a cat's back at Halloween.

All was well for months until the phone books came out and my number wasn't in it. I called Ma Bell and got her young nephew. The conversation went something like this:

"... and so, I'd like my number in the printed directory."

"We can do that. May I place you on hold?"

"You bet."

He returns, "Ma'am, you can go online and get an app to put your number online."

"My number's online. I'd like it in printed directory, too."

"May I place you on hold?"

"Sure."

Returning, he says "We can't list that number."

"That number was listed for 16 years," I answer. "I'm confident it can be done."

"Now, it's a cell number."

"It's the same number," I said.

"It's private now," he replied.

"It isn't private because I field 17 telemarketers a day."

"You can list your number with the federal Do Not Call ..."

"Yes, I've done that. They still call. But let's focus, I'm trying to get calls, not to not get calls. I need you to list my number."

"May I place you on hold?"

"I wouldn't know what to do if you didn't."

He returns, "Ma'am, your number used to be a landline, but now it's cellular and confidential."

"Land, cell or jelly donut, call it what you want. I waive all confidentiality and every claim from the beginning of time until the angels sing. I just need my number listed."

"May I put you on hold?"

"It's my favorite place in all the world."

He returns, "I Googled it and found where you can add your number to 411 listings."

He Googled it?

"Yes," I said. "It gives my number to calls placed for directory assistance. But I need my number printed in the phone book!"

"May I place you on hold?"

"Please do. I didn't get to hear the rest of 'The Girl from Ipanema.'"

He returns and -- after more than two hours together -- insists there is no way we can list my number.

It was at that moment that I utter words making it official to the universe and the 20-year old on the other end of the line that I was over-the-hill.

"You mean to tell me ..."

Nothing good can ever follow from a sentence beginning with those words.

"... that we can put ..."

Someone stop me.

"... a man on the moon ..."

There it was.

"... but we can't list my phone number?"

I wonder if the kid knew we'd put a man on the moon. Maybe he'd Google it.

So I'm off to buy myself some Velcro shoes, powder blue sans-a-belt pants and get a tightly curled perm befitting of my age. I'll be sure to take my phone with me. I wouldn't want to miss those telemarketers.

NAN Our Town on 10/08/2015

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