Maybe it’s just me, but I’m a little insulted at the presumptuous attitude of these people who spend millions of dollars each year, and waste unimaginable resources collating, publishing, and distributing these things. And then they have the nerve to leave them in the middle of my driveway, so I have to stop the car, get out, and chuck them in the recycling bin.
I’m talking about the phone book.
Every year, those busy beavers in Cary, North Carolina make over 500,000,000 of these things, and that’s just for the United States. At 3″ thick, that’s a pile of phone books over 23,000 miles high. If the human race were to declare world peace, come together as one people, and stack up all of their phone books, we could build a Tower of Babel that would reach the moon.
But in this day of cell phones, smart phones, 411-connect, laptop computers, and the Internet, does anyone really use a phone book anymore except as a boosterseat for little Johnny? I don’t want it, but every year, regular like a prostate exam, there it is waiting for me. So I decided to do something about it.
Since I’d already thrown away the phone book, I had to look up the number for Dex Customer Service on the Internet. I found a site where I could order more phone books, change the frequency or timing of deliveries, add a personal profile so I could tell the whole world my birthday or favorite color, and there in microscopic print down near the bottom were the words “Opt Out.” Perfect.
All I had to do was enter all of my name, address, phone number, and email address. What the hell? I have to give the phone company my telephone number? My email address? I don’t think so. So I called the 1-800 number, and after a fifteen minute wait, a pleasant young man named Robert came on the line.
“How can I help you, sir?” Robert’s accent sounded like that of a New York taxi driver. Oh, great, a Pakistani call-center.
I explained to Robert that I no longer wished to receive the phone book. “You want more phone book, sir? Yes sir, no problem.”
“No, Robert. I don’t want the phone book.”
“Yes, sir. We send more phone book, right away.”
I was getting impatient. “Bob, you’re not geting me. I don’t want your damned phone book. Understand? Nada, zero, zilch. Stop sending them.”
A long silence.
“Robert. Are you still there?”
A small choking sound. “Sir? But…you no want phone book?”
“That’s right, Bob. I want to cancel.”
“Please hold, sir.”
After a few minutes, a very business-like woman came on the phone. “This is Elizabeth, Supervisor Badge 39422. How can I help you, sir?”
“I want to cancel my phone book.”
“Certainly, sir. If I can just get your name, address, phone number, and email address, we’ll take care of that for you.”
“Why do you need my email address and phone number?” I couldn’t believe this.
“Sir, we have a strict privacy policy. We only use this information for verification purposes.”
There was no way I was giving them my email address and phone number just so they could turn around and sell it. “No.”
“Very well, sir. I’m afraid our business is done, then. Good day,” she said, and hung up the phone. What?
Furious, I hit redial, and after another fifteen minute wait, another Pakistani, this one with the unlikely name of Steven, came on the line. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Umm, I think I was disconnected. I was trying to cancel my phone book.”
A long silence, and then, “Oh, you’re the one. Hold please.”
After a few moments, Elizabeth, Supervisor Badge 39422, came back on the line. “So you’ve decided to be reasonable,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Sir, there’s no reason to resist us. We are the phone company. If we wish to find your personal information, believe me we will. Now, as I said before, we only use it for verification purposes, so if you will just cooperate, we can resolve this issue quickly.”
Well, enough was enough. “You know what, Elizabeth, Supervisor Badge 39422? I’m not playing your game. You can stick that phone book up your…”
“Very well, sir. We’ll do this the hard way,” and click. She hung up.
The next day, a shiny new pile of phone books was waiting for me in the driveway. And when I got out of my car, intending to kick them out to the street, I noticed a non-descript cargo van with government plates idling on the corner, two men sitting inside. As soon as they saw me, they pulled away.
Since then, I’ve been getting phone calls at night, but when I answer there’s nobody there. And I think there’s someone tailing me on my way to work. I’m scared. The phone books are piling up, and I’ve had to order another recycling bin to handle them all. I’ve tried to call Elizabeth, to tell her I will cooperate if she only calls off her dogs, but they won’t talk to me except to say I’ve been placed in “re-education status.”
If anything happens to me, share my story with your friends and family.
And let this be a lesson: Don’t mess with Dex.