1.23.2010

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.

Oy.

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?

Aaarrrggghhhh!

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."

4 comments:

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!