Cell out
I have a love-hate relationship with my mobile phone. Sometimes it is my completely indispensable best friend without whom life would be unimaginable, other times she's a right little minx. She wakes me up in the morning with her cheery chirping and helps me organise my social life, fetching taxis, fielding invites. She is my social secretary par excellence but I'm starting to think she might be a cheatin' on me like the errant wife in a country song.
It started with little things, when texting she would suggest "foraging" rather than "enraging" almost as if she didn't know me at all. I mean, when am I ever likely to forage? Foraging is for people who don't have a credit card and internet shopping. But really my suspicions were repeatedly aroused by the strange phone calls I received.
I've had people ring for exterminators, Warrants of Fitness, and plumbers. I've also had someone confirm a non-existent dentist's appointment and most recently I've had someone named Brent leave a message telling Charlize that the medication he'd been taking was making him vomit. Which, as you can imagine, was pretty vital information, just not to me. Then there are the random text messages about dance class the next day, or informing me of the tee time booked at the golf course. Dance class might have been a possibility but golf? I am not a golf person. I do not understand the attraction of golf any more than I understand the attraction of organised religion or drugs. Speaking of which, the inclination of golfers to wear trousers that looked like a bad acid trip doesn't do the sport any favours.
But where was I? Oh right, my phone seems to have often forwarded messages that were not meant for me. Over time it became abundantly clear that it was, perhaps under cover of darkness, or on one of the many occasions when I left it at home by accident, getting out and about, giving out her number to all and sundry. Dirty little stopout.
If she's going to be all slutty, couldn't she accidentally give my number to Ioan Gruffudd, he of the tempestuously flaring nostrils (there was a time not so long ago when watching episodes of Hornblower was a guilty Monday night pleasure. The time his French girlfriend got shot and then blown up he was ever so upset, the poor wee bloke. His nostrils were verily a-tremble like frightened kittens).
In reality what I think is the problem is that I've got the telephonic equivalent of "one of those faces". A few numerals repeated that seems to confuse people rather easily. Have you ever received unusual wrong numbers? Ever make a new friend that way (Ioan?).
Picture: Fairfax
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To this day, I don't know who felt the need to send me 'Ur al jdw qussies eat grouq mssage' at 11.54pm on June 18. I keep it to remind myself to live each day to the fullest!
About once a week I get a phone call on my mobile from strangers. I swear a group of people in the Waikato (that's the general area number) have banded together to randomly ring me. Then they proceed to argue with me because it's apparently my fault that either A. someone gave them my phone number or B. can't read numbers and dial the wrong one.
Then there's phone calls at home for people asking about ipods, computers or TV's. Turns out our phone number is one digit off Dick Smith's. Means we get constant phonecalls from people who can't read or dial properly. Many are fine with it, and take the correct number, while others again get peeved at US because it's OUR fault our number (which we've had for 20+ years) is so similar to Dick Smiths, who've only been open for at most 3.
I once received a voice message from a woman explaining, in highly graphic detail, exactly what she wanted to do to me that evening. Unfortunately, even had the message been meant for me, I wouldn't have enjoyed it, on account of not owning a penis.
Even more unfortunately, it wasn't Megan Fox. *sigh*
I think John Daly has been raiding Lenny Kravitz's wardrobe :-]
I used to get messages for a person called Tina (or possibly Teena), I was quite envious of her - she had a very busy social life. And because people hear what they want to hear and the similarities in our names I used to get lots of voicemails for her. From the Student Loans people re her student loan, from IRD re her student loan, from dentists, doctors and lots of retail stores re the new pair of shoes/dresses etc) she put on hold (now I knew why the student loan people wanted to talk to her so much. From people wanting to interview her for a job (presumably so she can pay back that student loan. I don't get the meassages anymore, I often wonder what happened to her. I hope she's okay.
I often get phone calls asking to speak to Dr Chandra. The caller last week pretty much accused me of stealing the phone?!?!
My current phone number, which I have had for 3 years, must have been owned by someone living in Palmy at some stage as I get so many phone calls from Palmy/Fielding numbers its crazy, and they get all shirty at me that I dont know the chicks new number. I mean really!!!
The most annoying was in the UK I was getting txts that cost me to received from some temping agency and when I rung them they said that they couldn't remove my number from their listing as I wasnt the name registered in their system against that number. In the end I had to get a new sim and go through the hassle of telling everyone again my new number was so annoying.
I hate those subscription things that cost you to receive each txt...
While I've never really had a problem with people calling me accidentally, I have however had issues when my phone doesn't do what it's supposed to. On the weekend the wife sent through a bunch of text messages and waited for a reply, I looked at my phone and wondered why I hadn't heard from her... After a few hours of waiting I gave her a call, and low and behold a plethora of unreceived messages came through, while we were talking. So once I we'd stopped talking I read said messages and sent her a quick reply saying that my phone was playing up. Her reply came through this morning somewhere in the realm of 36h later...
I hate mobile phones. Mobile phones are the work of Satan. They are in fact even worse than people who use Elizabethan words like 'gotten' in modern conversation, or who 'save' parking spaces by standing in them.
The only thing that is more annoying than mobile phones is those passengers on air flights who are incapable of grasping the mathematical concept of 'one'. As is "one piece of cabin baggage'. And instead bring three items, one of which is a bag full of rubbish.
This seems to be caused by the same hormone that makes people go insane once a month, be unable to parallel park, like gloves with no functional use, and need to be using their mobile phone at all times.
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Every month I get one reminding me of an appointment with some physio I have never heard of. But it's electronically generated so I cant text it back.
Once I had a plumber call me saying he was at my house and couldnt find the key. I told him he had the wrong number and he went beserk saying he didn't drive all the way to "my" house to be stuffed around like this as if it were my fault that he called me! He was in Auckland. I live in Welly. I ended up having to hang up on him as he went on his rant.