Phone Tyranny
By Bridget Darling
Phone Tyranny
By Bridget Darling
Copyright 2012 Bridget Darling
Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Phone Tyranny
Friday
8:00 A.M.
The phone trilled loudly. She lifted the receiver to her ear, fumbled for the talk button, and grunted groggily.
“Good morning, is this Mrs. Baskerville?” a cheerful voice asked. She grunted assent. “This is Sergeant Bercelli from the Ocean County Police Department, calling for the Blue Knights Local Chapter 42. I was wondering if you would be interested in making a donation this morning?”
She cracked one eye open. She peeked at the alarm clock. She cleared her throat. “It’s 8 A.M., and you just woke me up.”
“Thank you for your time, ma’am,” Sergeant Bercelli responded before hanging up. She plunked the phone back onto its cradle. She rolled over, pulled the blanket up to her shoulder, and went back to sleep.
8:20 A.M.
She mumbled, “Hello?”
“Hola?”
She opened her eyes to stare dumbly at the phone. Returning it to her ear, she tried again. “Hello?”
“Hola?”
“You have the wrong number.”
“Que?”
Mistaking volume for translation, she raised her voice. “You have the wrong number!” She dropped the phone on to its cradle.
9:35 A.M.
“Good morning, homeowner. My name is Linda, and I’m calling from Blue Moon Mortgage Financing.” The recording’s voice droned on for several minutes after she had hung up.
10:48 A.M.
“Can I speak to Mr. Jaime Baskerville please?”
“He’s not available,” she responded.
“Well, I just spoke with him, and he said to call him right back with the details of the order he was placing with me.”
“Really? Isn’t that funny, since I wasn’t told about any calls or orders today, and Jaime tells me everything.”
“I was talking to him only about five minutes ago, and he told me to call right back with the total of his order.”
“Well, I will tell you something. I am Jaime Baskerville. The next time you want to pull a stunt like this, check the sex of the individual you’re talking about. Saying he when you’re talking about a woman isn’t going to cut it.” Jaime hung up.
11:27 A.M.
Jaime took a bite of her homemade Belgian waffle as she answered the phone. She garbled, “Hello?”
“Good morning, or actually I should say good afternoon at this point, huh? Anyhoosit, my name is Sarah, and I’m calling from Good Housekeeping’s Library. I have a wonderful surprise. You’ve been chosen to receive a copy of the latest edition of Betty Crocker’s Best Home Cooking for a trial of thirty days. After which, if you decide to keep it, it’ll only be $29.95. So I’m calling you to just check the address. We have you listed as living at 74 Park Street. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct, but I’m not interested,” she responded. She took a quick drink of freshly squeezed orange juice. “I don’t cook.”
“These are the simplest, yet tastiest recipes you’ll ever come across.”
“But I don’t cook,” she repeated.
“It’s a must for any kitchen.”
“I don’t cook,” she said more firmly.
“But...”
She raised her voice a little. “I don’t cook.”
Sarah’s response was quiet. “Never?”
“Never,” she said firmly. Taking another bite of waffle, she added, “In fact, I’m anorexic. Actually you called just as I was about to go out and check myself into the hospital. I haven’t eaten for weeks.” She slurped more orange juice before hanging up.
11:35 A.M.
The phone rang. Jaime looked at it for several rings before answering.
“Can I speak to Mrs. Baskerville please?” the salesman asked.
“No, she’s not here.”
“Then can I speak to Mr. Baskerville?”
“He’s not here either.”
“Is there anyone available who is over the age of eighteen?”
“Nope, no one like that here,” Jaime answered before hanging up. She grabbed her jacket and car keys.
11:36 A.M.
Her hand was on the doorknob when the next call came. Grumbling under her breath, she answered it.
“Hi, Mrs. Baskerville. This is Tommy Jenkins. My brother and I run a lawn service in your neighborhood.”
“Well, Tommy Jenkins, let me ask you a question. Did I call you? Cause, I gotta tell you, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t call you. And don’t you think that if I wanted your lawn service, I would’ve called you?”
There was a brief pause.
“Sorry for bothering you, Mrs. Baskerville. Have a nice day.”
Jaime dropped the receiver and dashed out the back door.
12:54 P.M.
She finished hanging the newly purchased world map over the dart board on the wall by the phone. The phone rang. Lifting a dart in anticipation, she answered the call.
“Good afternoon. May I speak to Mrs. Baskerville please?”
Jaime tossed the dart at the map. “Mrs. Baskerville can’t come to the phone.” She squinted at the printing next to the dart point. “She’s in Mumbai on business.”
This stumped the salesman. “Where?” he asked, breaking from his credit card spiel.
“Mumbai. Have you ever heard of Bombay, India?” There was a muttered assent. “Well, Bombay was originally called Mumbai, but the Englishmen that took it over couldn’t pronounce Mumbai, so they changed it to Bombay. It was recently officially changed back.” Jaime paused.
“Oh,” the salesman said.
“I would suggest that you now hang up, and educate yourself before you spend the rest of your life being another idiot telemarketer.” That being said, she hung up. She smiled to herself with satisfaction.
1:37 P.M.
Jaime glanced at the ringing phone in her hand before pressing talk and handing it to her preschooler, Sammy.
“Hello Pop-Pop!” Sammy said excitedly. There was a brief pause. “You’re not Pop-Pop! Why are you calling here? Where’s Pop-Pop? Put Pop-Pop on the phone!”
Jaime smiled to herself as she settled onto the couch.
2:16 P.M.
“May I speak to George Baskerville please?”
“No,” Jaime answered.
“Well, George asked me to call.”
“Did he.”
“Yes, we were discussing a wonderful magazine, and he asked that I call him back with the subscription rates.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
“No, really. It’s a wonderful magazine with something in it for the whole family. And it’s a great deal when you subscribe for three years.”
“And George told you to call this number in order to sell him a subscription.”
“Yes.”
“Well, let me let you in on a little secret. George has been dead for twelve years, so unless you’re selling Ouija Today, I don’t think he’s interested.”
3:57 P.M.
“Is your refrigerator running?”
6:02 PM
“Sammy, have you seen Mommy’s phone?” Jaime called as she dug through her purse. An incriminating giggle was soon followed by a flush. Even as she darted to the bathroom, she knew she’d be too late.
8:15 P.M.
Jaime growled in the back of her throat before shouting into the receiver, “I don’t need another credit card!” She slammed the phone down and stomped away.
10:15 P.M.
“Guess where my hand is...” Jaime screamed as she ripped the phone out of the wall. She slammed ope
n the window and flung the phone at the street.
Saturday
5:15 P.M.
Jaime locked the door as the telephone repairman walked to his van. She turned to the new phone. With a sigh, she lifted the receiver to her ear. The quick beeps informed her that there was voicemail waiting for her. She closed her eyes, steeling herself to dial voicemail.
“Hi, Jaime, it’s me. I got here okay. Miss you. Wish you guys could’ve come with me. I know, I know, it would’ve been really boring for you, all these meetings and seminars I have to go to. Ah well. Sorry I missed you, guess I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Hey honey, it’s me again. Where are you? Guess you must’ve found something to do with your day. I tried your cell phone, but you didn’t answer that either. Hope everything’s okay. I’ll try again in a little while.”
“You know, Jaime, this is almost making me worry. I haven’t talked to you since this afternoon. You’re not answering your cell. Hope everything’s okay. Kiss my little buddy goodnight for me. I’m gonna go to sleep now, so I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Just so you know, you’re four hours away from being a missing person. Call me.”
“Did Sammy swallow a coin again? Call me.”
“If you’re having PMS and it’s made you hate me, it’s okay. Just pick up the phone and tell me.”
“You’re two hours away from being a missing person. Answer the phone.”
“If you’ve freaked out and gone to the beach again without telling anyone, I’ll kill you. I will fly down there on a broomstick, hunt you down, and kill you.”
“Whatever you’ve done, I just want you to know that I love you and it’s okay.”
“If you’re in jail...”
“I just talked to your mom and she hasn’t heard from you either. If you don’t call me back within the hour, she’s going to come over there and check on you.”
“You’re twenty minutes away from being a missing person. I’m not kidding. I will call the police.”
Jaime hung the phone up, laughing softly. She only had to wait a heartbeat before the phone rang. She answered it with a smile.
“Hi, honey. You’ll never believe the day I had yesterday.”
####
About the author:
Bridget Darling lives in Colorado with her faithful partners in crime, Harold and Sparkle Pup.
Connect with her online:
[email protected] Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BridgetDarlingWriter