Sometimes you just have to admire moxie. For the past few weeks I have been plagued by calls on my cell phone by a certain telemarketer. The calls hail from Jamaica and the garbled message always instructs me to call a number to claim my prize. They call at about the same time every evening.
I ignored the calls for about a week. On Monday, I was on my way to Chicago, listening to the floundering Cubbies on the radio when the cell phone ring interrupted the broadcast. It was my Jamaican buddies. Apparently these guys were not going to give up, so I decided to put a stop to the calls. I answered. As the guy started his spiel, I interrupted to inform the caller I am not interested, remove me from the list, and told him he was violating Indiana and Federal Law by calling me. The guy would not take no for an answer and kept at it. I gave him a shouted "Fuck you" and hung up. There is nothing like a bit of childish satisfaction to momentarily soothe the wounds of a lifetime rooting for a crappy baseball team.
Flash forward to Tuesday evening. I was driving towards my next stop on my make-a-living tour and my cell rang. It was a call from Jamaica; the same old number. I answered, and a voice asked "Is this Joe?". Before I can tell him off one more time, I heard a shout -- "Fuck you too!" and the caller hung up.
All I could do is laugh. Hell, if they call again, I just might listen to his script. Us assholes have to give each other some professional courtesy.