I was offered the option of picking a new #, or sticking with the # I had. I chose the former, because about once a week I'd get someone else's voicemail: generally it was a woman, speaking in Spanish, asking regarding a housecleaning position. My Spanish is not good enough to permit me to coherently tell her there is nobody at this phone who wants a housekeeper, so she calls back.
Over.
And Over.
So yes, new phone number! say I, thinking that this will be my ticket to unlimited bliss and freedom from Senora Gonzales calling at 4 PM to ask me about the housekeeper position in the house I don't own. Curiously, while some of the folks have been able to grasp 'I'm sorry, there's no housekeeping position available at this phone number'- not a one of these has been able to tell me where she got the damn #.
New phone. It's too small. It's freakishly small. It's mutated-pigmy-chihuahua small. I'll put it this way: it has a little leash on it, that you can put fingers through while you're using it so you don't drop the thing?
The leash is nearly twice as long as the phone. And is just barely big enough to surround my whole hand.
And.
I've already gotten voicemail for a Tracey from her brother who wanted her to know that the book she wanted him to pick up doesn't exist.
Sent within the last 1/2 hour.
Fuck!!!
