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!