I have few callers on my landline now. Today I had Twelve, not twelve callers but a company called Twelve, as the bloke told me before I had the chance to hang up. You recently answered a survey and said you sometimes play the Natinal Lottery, the man from Twelve said. This, of course, is a a lie. I do not and have never played the lottery. Well, I said, to stop him talking and give myself time to frame a response. Talking to cold callers has become an important part of my life, much as inviting Jehovah’s Witnesses in and talking to them used to be. That is false, I say. I am AGAINST the lottery. I say this with religious fervour. There was a pause. All right, said the man from Twlve and put the phone gently down, or clicked it gently off. As if to say, it’s a fair cop. The business of revealing the untruths of cold callers has become a necessary chore, a modern ritual. Which reminds me. I haven’t heard from the man who tells me that I or a member of my family have been involved in a minor or major accident recently.
More telephone fun today though. With BT this time. I now have Infinity, put in last week. Immediately no blue light on, no connection. And so, after a week of putting it off, the painful call to India fior technical support. The usual procedure. The verbal humiliation as he asks me questions using computer terminology I am unable to understand. He is trying to disguise the exasperation in his voice. For these people I must be some kind of mental pygmy. Then the physical humour where they ask you to manipulate random parts of the differemt hubs and sockets that the engineer installed last week. Me trying to unravel wires round the back of the hub whilst cradling the phone in my shoulder hollow. At least this time he did not ask me to find a long pin from among my household objects, insert it into a specific hub orifice and wiggle it around for thirty seconds.