The Curmudgeon Goes On Phone Hiatus: Part 3

When I’ve been spared an annoyance I forget even the existence of the shit I was trying to avoid. The phone reminded me why I hate phones.

I spent the next few days hanging up on telemarketers and getting blast broadcasts about the nearest place to get a COVID shot.

The COVID “bulletins” really burned my biscuits! As if maybe I was unaware of the vaccination situation? What with 2020/2021 being such a normal time maybe I just had no idea why the streets were empty? Lumber costs more than cocaine, perfect strangers pry into medical decisions which are none of their damn business, and everyone is either wearing a Lone Ranger mask or bitching about them based on which State you’re in. That’s the environment where some asshole starts blasting information at me using my own phone? Are they terrified people will mellow out. If we’re not informed good and hard and repeatedly and involuntarily over and over again would that be so bad? One might go about their day like a relaxed normal human being instead of stewing in a frothy panic. It’s rude, demeaning, and bullying. If I want a shot I’ll get a fucking shot. It’s not like I don’t know how. If I don’t want a shot it’s because I made a fucking decision. It’s not like the advice I’d get from a four ounce plastic square would change my mind. Those infernal bulletins can only influence the lowest most sub-sentient section of the dipshit side of the bell curve; those who haven’t made a choice and who do what their phone says.

That’s why public service announcements are pointless. You’d have to be droolingly laughably unfathomably clueless to be unaware of the topics at hand.

Then I almost had a heart attack when a loud alarm went off about a kid that was missing 300 miles away. I don’t want any kid to suffer but what the fuck am I to do about it? Go outside and check the chicken coop? Then there was a smaller alarm when the kid showed up; it too woke me up.

The damn thing just wouldn’t shut up. I’d been “off line” a little under a month and that’s all it had taken to get used to the silence. I missed the silence soooo much.

But I had an important communication need. I’d ordered feeder pigs from the busiest farmer in creation. They’d be ready soon. Things of this sort aren’t an exact calendar thing. I’d been told to expect a call “around May 1^st”. May 1^st rolled around with no word.

A note about the busiest farmer in creation, the dude is a legend. When I picked up piglets last year it was less like a modern farm than Dr. Doolittle at a zoo. There were ducks and geese and goats and sheep and cows and chickens and a horse and piglets and sows. The grass was green, there were six kinds of shit on the ground, and every possible smell wafted through the air. It was a whole damn Ark. I was impressed and pleased.

The mix of all those things meant his operation was awesome! The pigs were excellent (and tasty now that they’re in my freezer). I suspect the guy is an absolute master of livestock. However, any guy with that much critter under his care is too busy to deal with humans. Everything was in the most curt and efficient manner possible. He never says three words when two will suffice and he says those two words with the authority of a drill sergeant. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t advertise. He doesn’t stop working. I assume he never sleeps. When I ordered piglets I didn’t get a receipt or anything like that. He didn’t write anything down. There was no chit chat. It was a thirty second phone call back when there was a foot of snow on the ground.

“Yeah, I’ll have feeders. <MOOOOO> I’ve got your number on caller ID. <CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK> They’ll be ready about May first. <BAAAAAAAA> Don’t call me, I’ll call you. <EHHH HAAAWW>” Click.

I think he must have a donkey too?

A dude like that doesn’t have time to fuck around. Dipshit homesteaders like me are not his main deal. He’s all business, expects you to be paying attention, and talks fast. He’s less a business contact than a very busy drug dealer for homesteaders who need a piglet fix.

And he didn’t call around May 1^st! Shit!

He must have called while my phone was dead. Oh No!

I called him. It went like this

“Yeah? <QUACK QUACK QUACK> I tried to call you but you never answered. <MOOOOO>”

“Sorry, my phone was broke.” I lied.

“Very inconvenient. <BAAAAAAAA>”

“Do you still have piglets?” I begged.

“Yes. <SQUEAAAAAAL> Tomorrow. <CLUCK CLUCK> In the evening. <MOOOO> Around seven.”

“Yes, thank you I…” The phone was already dead. A man as important as the busiest farmer in creation doesn’t waste time with niceties. He was probably driving a tractor and trimming hooves while balancing a feed bag and chasing a goat. Lord knows how he was holding the phone in the middle of all that.

I don’t own a piglet hauling trailer and I’d agreed to show up. I’d had only one shot to buy those pigs. Blow it now and he’d never take a phone call from me again!

What’s worse, I had one shot to get a trailer. I called the only rental place within 100 miles. This place is as slow and unreliable as the busiest farmer in creation is brutally efficient “PLEASE HELP ME, I NEED TO RENT YOUR TRAILER.”

“Well…” Pause. “we’re pretty busy…” Pause. “it’s spring ya’ know.”

Does anyone not know it’s spring? “Can I reserve it?”

“It’s out somewhere today.”

“What about tomorrow, in the evening.”

“Let me check.” Ten minute pause in which time I assume they hung up the phone and went fishing. “Yeah, tomorrow’s OK.”

I reserved and paid in advance to reduce (not eliminate, only reduce) the odds they’ll rent it out to someone else.

Then I breathed a sigh of relief.

I’d enjoyed my month of phone-lessness but almost missed my piglet drop date. It was a close call.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work like a demon to get the damn fence repaired. The clock is ticking!