SORRY, RIGHT NUMBER


In the dead of night
The phone rings...
And rings...
And rings...

"Hello?"

Bright cheery voice:
"Good morning!  This is your three a.m. wake-up call."

Not quite awake,
I still manage to say
That I didn't order any
Three a.m. wake-up call.

"We know that, but for only ten dollars a month
You can cancel it."

I thought I'd sent my money in for that already,
But no,
That had been to cancel
Their two a.m. wake-up call.
The three a.m. call was a new item
Just added to their list
Of "services".
And they were planning others for the future
At other hours of the night
Along with don't-stay-in-the-shower-too-long calls
Plus physical-fitness calls
To keep you jogging
Between the dinner table
And the phone.

I mumble something
About answering machines
And the voice grows angry:
"That's...that's...restraint of trade!
Listen, buster, you try that
And we'll get an injunction so fast
It'll make your head swim.
And don't try anything funny
Like letting it ring, either!"

My mention of the bit
In the Eighth Amendment about
Cruel and unusual punishment
Brings only scornful laughter:
"We're exempt from all that stuff."

My patience nears its end:
"Law or no law, if this phone rings one more time
I'm gonna rip it out by the roots
And mail it to Timbuktu."
SLAM!!!

Ten minutes later
Some delivery service calls
With a special deal
On mailing phones to Timbuktu
In the middle of the night.

So, the next time they call
They'll get a recording:
"The number you have reached
Has been ripped out by the roots
And mailed to Timbuktu.
All of our overseas circuits are busy
And calling Timbuktu is too expensive anyway
But if you insist
You may hold the line
Until something becomes available."

Only my friends will know
That it's really
An answering machine.



                                        Thomas G. Digby


                                        Entered 2345hr 2/22/84