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My Hang Up

By Tater Barley Banks | Comment Diversions | August 21, 2010 | Comments ()

By Tater Barley Banks | Comment Diversions | August 21, 2010 |


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A couple months ago, Tater Tot was apartment hunting and apparently needed a lot of advice in this regard from Mrs. Tater, because that month they managed to turn a normal $85 USCellular bill into an OMFG $206 (and change) cell phone bill.

They were something like 400 over their minutes.

I couldn't fucking believe it. 400 minutes is like an entire WEEK on the phone, isn't it?

Somewhere around that time, I saw a woman driving a car while holding a cell phone to her ear with her left hand and steering with her right, which held a cigarette.

Today I was grocery shopping and noticed a woman trying to steer a shopping cart while holding a cell to her ear. I noticed her several times, rounding the aisles. She was reckless driving WITH A GROCERY CART, for like half an hour. I got frostbite from loafing in the frozen foods, trying to avoid her.

I fucking hate the telephone. I would rather drive 20 miles to your house and bang on your front door, taking the chance that you might not be home, than pick up the phone and call you. I don't do small-talk very well. I can't bullshit, and it seems to me that 95 percent of phone conversations are bullshit. Somebody calls and says, "What's going on?" I often reply, "I don't know, YOU called ME, remember?"

Mrs. Tater works from home and talks a LOT with her billing partner, which would be a long-distance call if it weren't cost-controlled with the landline plan we have (a mere $93 a month). The cell is primarily for Tater Tot (as I mentioned, about $85 a month).

This seems to me an extraordinary waste of money. We're talking about $2,000 a year here, are we not? I could take a hell of a vacation with that, good hotel at the beach and plenty left for hookers and blow.

If it were up to me, I wouldn't have a phone. Well, I'd have one of those medic alert things, because I'm that fucking old, and I don't want to die at the foot of the cellar steps.

But really: I wouldn't have a phone. Anything anyone has to say to me, they can say it in an e-mail.

So my question for all of you today is: What the FUCK do you have to talk about so much?


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