My inner Luddite is crying

Wait for dial tone

I'm what they call a late adopter. I resist technology for as long as possible and do my fair share of grumbling when I finally relent. Until recently, I had been able to stave off the pressure to use a cell phone. Not get one, mind you. I've had one for years as a safety measure, but I left it turned off and out of sight and tended to forget that it was even there. Upon marrying Dr. H., it became clear that I would be able to resist no more. Before I knew it, I had a new phone, a new number, and a firm, but polite, request from my beloved that I used the blasted thing. The things we do for love.

It started off fairly well. I'm a sucker for a camera of any shape or form, so playing with the simple one on the phone was a source of fun. I also decided to limit who has my new number, so the darn thing wouldn't be ringing all the time. My mom always said I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time, so the idea of me talking on the phone while shopping or driving or doing most anything ranges from laughable to scary. I had made my peace. I'd turn it off when I went out, and when it rang at home, it was guaranteed to be someone I'd be happy to talk to.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, my new number has a long and storied history. It began when I received a text message one weekend: Na na na like everyday ... like my Ipod's stuck on replay. Um ... ok. I assumed it was a wrong number, until the next message came in: Hey love. I'm at a wrestling tournament. Be back Thursday. Oh dear. On Thursday, I received: What are your New Year's plans?

Since this wasn't a one time wrong number, I decided to text back: I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number. An hour later, I get the following reply: You're so funny. I just got back from a wrestling tournament, and I was thinking about driving home to spend New Year's with my hometown amigos.


Since wrestler boy wasn't going away on his own, I asked Kurt to call and let him know that he had the wrong person. I thought about doing it myself, but the way things were going, he'd probably think I was his long lost girlfriend. If he hadn't noticed that she never replied to his texts, how perceptive could he be? So Kurt calls and leaves a voicemail politely explaining the situation. I assume that will be the end of it. The next day I receive: Hello? You coming up tonight?


I had to call our cell phone provider to block the number to put an end to the texts. Just when I thought it was safe, I received a voicemail: Hi Rebecca, this is Mr. X from Company X. Please call me immediately concerning Mr. Y. This number was listed as his emergency contact information.

My inner Luddite is crying.

And saying, "I told you so."


Craig Miyamoto said...

Three words: GET A NEW PHONE! Okay, that's four words, but who's counting anyway?

BlondesPoopMascara.blogspot.com said...

Can you at least get a free meal out of this? -Mr. Blonde

casch said...

I've had a similar problem with my house phone for three years! No texts mind you, just messages on my answering machine. Being so out of things last year, I was around more to intercept the calls and let them know "Crystal" doesn't have this number any longer!

Nana said...

Okay, I had to look up who the Luddites were....LOL! You're so funny! ;o)
PS--this is Brenda...but you can call me Nana if ya wanna....heeehee!