Calling A Scam A Scam

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has been in high demand for the past several weeks. It seems as if she's the new belle of the ball. So many suitors requesting a spot on her dance card! At least that's the reason I imagine so many people are calling me. Calling me at 8:40 a.m. (waking me when I've barely gotten 20 winks). Calling me at 9:15 at night. And a variety of times in between, with 11:00-11:30 a.m. seeming to be a favorite. That's when I'm usually in the shower. I don't hear the phone, because the one on the master bathroom wall has a ringer that doesn't work. You'd think a resourceful fellow like Farmer H could remedy that. If he only cared. Which he most likely doesn't, not wishing me to pencil anybody else onto my dance card.

Sometimes I answer those calls. Just in case. You never know when my knees might feel like dancing. Too often, nobody is on the other line. It's as if they can see through the phone, and reject me as a dance partner without even giving my charming personality a chance.

Sometimes, it's people who want to warn me that if I don't call and provide information, the sheriff will pick me up for some unspecified crime.

Lately, it's been a call from a prison, which may be monitored! I don't want someone snooping on my conversation with a potential dance partner! So I hang up on those.

A couple weeks ago, I got a call on my cell phone from an unknown number. That rarely happens. Maybe because in the rare case it does, I block the number. This one said it was from KANSAS. Now that was interesting. Genius works in Kansas. But it didn't look like an area code from there. And I'm pretty sure anywhere that could be a call from him, or about him, would be more specific than just KANSAS. Really. Was the whole state wanting a conference call with me? Or maybe it was Dorothy and Toto, needing a ride.

That KANSAS call resulted in a text thingy. You know. When you don't pick up the call, and then I guess it leaves a voice message, and then that translates it to a text. I don't know how that dark magic works, but that call was from SPRINT, wanting me to upgrade my phone.

Seriously, SPRINT? You are a business, by cracky! Supposed to be on the up-and-up. Kosher. Above-board. Don't try to pull a fast one. Pull the wool over my eyes. Pee on my leg and tell me that it's raining. You are no better than a common telemarketer with this tactic. What if you'd gotten me off the toilet while I was pooping in a cardboard box???

Friday morning, an even evil-er form of fake call woke me. Of course the caller ID shows (and speaks all garbled-y) some gaggle of letters that I suppose are an acronym for these unscrupulous fly-by-night scammers. I jumped out of bed (not an easy task) to grab the cordless land line on my nightstand.

"Hillbilly Mom?"

"Yeesss...."

"Oh, you sound so YOUNG! You make me feel positively old!"

Silence on my part. I don't talk when someone's peeing on my leg.

"I'm calling for blabbedy-blab. We provide cards for children undergoing a catastrophic illness. With your donation--"

"I'm not interested."

"Oh, can you imagine how sad it is for these kids and their families--"

"I'm not interested."

"I know this is a hard time--"

"I give to other organizations. I'm not interested."

"So can I sent out a pledge envelope--"

"NO! I'm done."

Seriously. You can't be polite to these people. First of all, lady, stop being so smarmy. You might as well be a slimy car salesman calling me "young lady" as to use that opening. And you have no idea whether it's a "hard time." It's not. If I had a wheelbarrow full of Benjamins sitting right there by the phone, I STILL wouldn't give you a single cent.

I'm getting kind of crotchety in my dotage.