If You Can't Pronounce My Name, I Don't Need To Talk To You

Anne Marie and I have not had a landline telephone for over a year now because we didn't see the point of paying for it when we only use our cell phones anyway. Here in St. Louis we do have a landline because I work out of a home office. Everyday I receive 4-5 random phone calls from strangers I assume are trying to sell something to me. A couple of callers were from the local newspaper, and they assured me most fiercely that their deal was a fantastic deal. I hate their reasoning. So should I go buy a set of Lifetime - made for TV movies just because they are 50% off? Give me a break. Now I know that receiving these kind of calls is just a part of life. In fact, I have a fond memory of my Dad receiving one such call. That poor salesperson asked for my Mother. My Dad said with convincing concern on his face, "I'm sorry, she passed away a year ago." They never called back. It was genious. And now, looking back, I wondered why we did not develop this talent for defending our home line. I guess most people just let the answering machine take over. Not until this last week did I realize how fun it is to answer the phone when they call but say nothing. Be silent as death. It is so much fun to listen them calling out my butchered name, over and over again, as if they are at the end of a dark tunnel. "Is uh. . .is a . . . Mark aim-eight-cherr there?"

Yes, but you'll never know.