THE COLD CALL


 


R. A. Schultz


 


 


Ya know what burns my Pop-Tarts?  Ya know what makes me so damn mad I could play with a live copperhead?  This morning at 8:12 my cell phone starts ringing.  I had been in bed just drifting, my semi-awake state between light sleep and consciousness, and I realize I had left the phone in the top drawer of my nightstand.  I recover it and deliver a low “hello.”  I hear background noise on the other end, followed by the sing-song almost English obviously belonging to Sheki from Bangladesh.


 


SHEKI:  Hello?


ME:  Yeah.


SHEKI:  Good morning.  How are you this morning?


ME:  I don’t know yet.


SHEKI:  Oh.  I’m calling from Medicare.  It has been reported to us that you suffer from back or knee pain.  Where are you experiencing the worst pain?


ME:  Who reported it?


SHEKI:  (MOMENTARY SILENCE)  Well, perhaps it was someone in your house or someone you know.


ME:  (GROAN)  *CLICK* (As I snap the phone shut).


ANNETTE:  Who the hell was that? (LAUGHING)


ME:  Sheki Behuda from Bangladesh selling some $h*t.


 


“I’m calling from Medicare” my @$$!  Some medical device company selling some cockamamie brace or something else that doesn’t work from an outsourced offshore calling outfit because they’re maximizing their profits by over-charging Medicare and medical insurance companies. 


 


Mine was likely the third hang-up of the morning that Sheki experienced.  Even if these people paid better attention to their time zones, they’d still get a taste of my attitude. 


 


       It’s really great being a retired old grouchy redneck!

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