The Number You Are Calling Is Disconneted

I'm seriously contemplating having to change my telephone number. I am reluctant to do so because we have had our current number for years. The last four digits, 1005 also happen to be our address. If nothing else it is a conversation starter, if someone is smart enough or interested enough to notice.

Why, you might ask, would I change my phone number? Long time blog friends might be able to guess. I might change it so that Cletus Sneed, chronic pain in my butt, won't be able to call me or to give out my number to the assorted people he currently gives it to.

I would like to go on record as saying that in the perfect world I would not make or receive any phone calls. Over the years I have carefully crafted a personae of invisibility. This in itself limits the number of people who wish to speak to me. Add to that, my joblessness and my calls should be down to near zero.

I think my phone interactions should be limited to the Lovely Mrs. Sneed, Daughter Sneed, any Son Sneed not named Cletus, the significant others of the various Sneed children and assorted Sneedlets. I would add to that list my best pal Lonnie, the Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob. That's it. Each of these people has the very good sense not to be a pain in my butt.

Instead my day is a steady stream of calls from Cletus or one of the assortment of lawyers, bill collectors and idiots he gives our phone number to.

Reasonably intelligent people can think of two strategies to combat this tide of interruptions; simply don't answer, and tell the Cletus not to call or give out our number anymore. Neither work with this guy.

Today, for instance, I got up at the crack of dawn to drive Son Sneed to his ECT treatment. He had to be there at 6:15 am, meaning that we left our house at 5:40 am. I got out of bed at 4:50 am. Way too early for me. Normally, I wake up at 5:30 or so. You wouldn't think 40 minutes less sleep than normal was make a difference, but it does. I was tired. In fact I dozed off in the waiting room at the hospital.

The treatment went quickly and we were home by 9:00 am. I thought I had time for a quick snooze before I had to meet my pal Lonnie at 11:30 for lunch. No sooner had I dozed off than the calls began.

First, Cletus called asking if I would be at home. I didn't recognize the phone number as one of his regulars. Without my glasses I can't read caller ID anyway. He said he had some papers to fill out and needed my help. An obvious lie. I told him I was going out. Would I drive him to court at two? I repeated that I was going out. He hanged up.

Next, a guy called from an auto detail shop. Wonder Boy applied for a job and the guy needed to talk to him. I told this fellow that Cletus doesn't live here but I would give him the message if I saw him. Then the lawyer called, or at least I think it was him. Same drill.

Back to my nap. At ten the doorbell rang. Cletus was on the door step. He wanted to use the phone, so I let him in, but reminded him that I was leaving.

He called the detail guy who fortunately was in, eliminating the need for more phone tag. Then he called the lawyer and left another message with our phone number as a call back. This set me off. What kind of half wit leaves his lawyer a message to call where he is very unlikely to be? And what type does it within a few minutes of being told to knock it off?

Finally, he got to the real point behind his call and uninvited visit. He needed a ride to a laundromat where he had left his clothes two days ago. I'm not kidding. Evidently someone dropped him there, but he had no way to get the clothes home on his bike, so he just left them in a hamper in the laundromat.

I grudgingly told him that I would drive him on my way to lunch. In route, Son Sneed called me to say the lawyer called our house again and was kind of perplexed why Cletus keeps leaving our number when he is not going to be here to receive the call. Well, welcome to the club. Oh, and he needed a buck to ride the bus to court. I reminded him that he actually needed two so that he could get back home. His response was, "Good thinking." Good thinking beats bad thinking every time.

So, we may change our number, even though is irritates me to no end to do it.

In non Cletus-related news, I had lunch today with my pal Lonnie, and our ninety year-old friend Chuck. The old guy's wife of sixty years died a couple of months ago and we worry that he is lost without her.

Having a ninety year-old friend is sort of nerve wracking. We only see him at the bar on Fridays so when he doesn't show up, we worry about the worst.

There was no cause for worry today, though. When I arrived for lunch he was already there, sitting at our table. His first words were, "look at this".

He pulled out a boarding pass for a fight to Las Vegas tomorrow and showed me a giant wad of cash he is taking with him. He is going to Las Vegas for five days. He plans to lay low tomorrow and to gamble like crazy on Sunday and Monday. Those days, he told me conspiratorially, are when the savvy players gamble. Too many yahoos from California in town on Saturday. Whatever. I'm pretty sure that he will be plugged in front of a nickel slot for five days.

He said his relative has a friend who is a chef at one of the big resorts and that he is making them a big deal special dinner while they are in town. He assured us that he is not just some old geezer wandering around. No sir, he knows his way around.

He said that he was a the Venetian a couple of years ago and two attractive women asked if he wanted to have "a party". He actually asked what this would cost a guy, but decided that two grand was a bit steep. He claims to have told them that he was a renter not a buyer, but he may be lying about that part. It's hard to tell with him.

He also claims he asked how much just out of curiosity, not a real interest. He was eighty-seven at the time. What kind of hookers proposition an eighty-seven year-old man, lazy ones? Talk about your easy money.

Some relative, a policeman, is coming from California to ride herd on him so that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He promises to meet us next Friday with the details. Oh, and he is buying our lunch with his fabulous winnings. I'm bringing money just in case.






Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky