This is an important notification:

Nobody calls us on the land line anymore. Well, that’s not true. Laura calls sometimes to check on the visiting teaching. And Cam uses it when he can’t raise me on the cel. But honestly? The only reason I keep the thing is because I love my ACN rep soooo much. And because you do need a number that’s a little less intimate to field the outside world—like I need some trash call pulling me out of a meeting or interrupting a talk with a kid.

So the other day, I’m deep in the finish work on this project that’s been sucking out my brains for the last four months, and the phone rings. Concentration shattered. I look at the ID, and it’s some out of area call—a publisher? An emergency? A long lost millionaire relative? Cheerful idiot that I am, I pick up—only to hear—nothing. Dead air. And then a recorded voice: “This is an important notification about your credit card . . ..”

The question should probably be: why do I not learn? Yes, we’re on the no call list (which does not shield you from “charities” and “surveys,” as though the shysters who scam under those umbrellas could really be expected to honor that. Like the people who call you and make sure they’ve got the word “police” in their ID. Police charity – like who’s gonna say no to that? And they do give money to the police—except that these “charities” have terrifically hefty admin fees, and those just have to come out first . . .).

But this particularly nasty little company must be pretty sure nobody’s going to up and report them to the feds (there’s like a 3K fine for violating the list – each call), because they call us about four times a week, and sometimes several times a day.

Which has to indicate that there are people out there even stupider than I am, supplying these dudes with money and personal information – maybe deeds to their houses and mentions in their wills? Because why else would the calls go on and on and on? Here’s the number, by the way: 516-784-9844. Or variations on that theme.

So as I was saying, the other day I pick up the phone, all interrupted creative flow, but cheerful, hopeful, willing. And it’s this stupid credit card scam. So I slam down the phone, grinding my teeth. And I turn back to the monitor—and no kidding—am just putting my hand back on the mouse—when the PHONE RINGS AGAIN!!!!!!!!!! (count the exclamation points – go ahead.)

I glance at the ID – out of state, unrecognizable number – and I am suddenly disgruntled. Postal. Furious. Can the company actually be this stupid? Does their computer now call you back immediately unless you actually say something to it? I pick up the phone, and even knowing that there is no human being on the other end, I’m screaming: “WHAAT?????? GET-OFF-MY-PHONE!!!!” And I slam the phone back down.

I’m reminding myself of Animal, the muppet guy, after he blows. I’m gulping for air and looking for things to throw. And as I’m sizing up the stuff on my desk, I happen to look at the little ID box next to the phone. Wait. This was not that 561 number. This was a 305 number. It was not the same people calling me back.

WHO JUST CALLED ME?

The possibilities are bolting through my brain: a fan? A new publisher? Somebody wanting to set up an interview or a workshop or offering me a teaching position in Hawaii? No. No. It couldn’t be that dang millionaire relative – FINALLY?

Oh, dang. Oh, dang. Oh, dang.

I’m thinking – maybe whoever it was will just figure she got the wrong number and call back? Maybe I could get the dog to answer it if she does, because I’m all alone here. Or I could do an accent – Australian, maybe. “Goo-daey! Not, here, mate, sorree. Take a numba?”

So I know anybody at a 305? Or where 305 means? I am actually wringing my hands. Because I am going to have to call this person back, whoever it was.

Or google the number. I could try that.

So that exactly what I did. I googled the dang thing. The hits came up, fast and furious. And guess what? There’s MORE THAN ONE COMPANY that does this stuff. (I told you I was stupid.) And lucky me: I got called by two of them within three seconds of each other. So it wasn’t a trip to Hawaii or a long lost friend, or somebody who wanted to write an article about me for National Geographic. Or Daddy Warbucks for that matter.

I have never been so relieved.

OH-HELLO! – My land line just rang. I’m not kidding. Just now. As I am writing this. 386-427-6893. A very important notification about my car warrantee. They have been trying to reach me. I’m going to be re-classified if I do not take care of this. Like—RIGHT NOW. Only one problem:

We don’t have a car warranty.