I just finished reading Nature Girl, written by one of my favorite authors, Carl Hiaasen. In this particular story, Hiaasen took a swing at a major pet peeve -- the telemarketing industry. It wasn't until the last page was turned that I realized, oh hell! I don't get telemarketing calls since I put myself on the National Do Not Call registry.
You would think, wouldn't you, the dearth of annoying, invasive calls is a Good Thang? And it is. It really is. It's just that Hiaasen's heroine had so much FUN sockin' to the slime-bucket phone solicitor, I found myself actually missing the opportunity to play with telemarketing heads.
Not that I did much playing before the Do Not Call signup. Because the calls almost always came at inconvenient times, I was in the habit of simply saying, "Please take me off your list," and hanging up so I could get back to whatever was being so rudely interrupted. Although there was one memorable call that came in during a football game. "Are you out of your mind?" I screeched. "You're interrupting Monday Night Football!"
Barbarians at the gates, that's what.
I can't help feeling a bit wistful about the missed opportunities. In between calls, I imagined all sorts of wicked things to say to unsuspecting solicitors. Sometimes I was convinced I could singlehandedly -- or single-mouthed -- bring the telemarketing industry to its knees. Trouble is, every time one of those durned calls came in, I was too distracted to remember my evil intentions and I let them slip away.
Ah well. I'm sure somewhere out there, more worthy windmills are waiting to be tilted. All I have to do is identify them and then plot the attack. Right after I sharpen my trusty lance.