Dial-a-moron

Being a complete idiot is sometimes an exhilirating
and unpredictable way of living a life. Incidents find
you and keep things interesting. You wake up in cold
sweat expecting some yahoo yelling into a bullhorn "We
have the building surrounded! Come out with your hands
above your head."


Of all the specifically bad choices I have made in my
life, not changing the phone out of my name in my old
house would have to be my most recent. It actually
started as a pretty simple excercise of leaving the
phones working so that my previous housemates, Stacia
and Katie, could call up other people so they could
move out. Simple. Now, problems occured when the new
lot of tenants moved in, the old ones moved out. A few
weeks went by where there was several friendly
attempts at contacting the group at Queensberry street
was unsuccesful. The few weeks became a few months...


On the day I got the letter from Dun & Bradstreet
Collection Services I had just come back from lunch
with Dad, leaving me in a fairly patricidal mood, the
heat was intense enough to cause cars in South
Australia to burst into flames and the last thing
needed in the whole scheme of things was a karmic
wedgie.
It's an ugly letter.
It stares at me as I type this.
It has words and phrases like; 'commence debt
recovery action','72 hours','legal action','adversley
affect your credit rating (my WHAT rating?)',
'$1,614.95' as well as 'and the horse you rode in on'.

Meanwhile... at the Telstra head office: Beings of Pure Misery were looking to ruin someone else's day

I will be, if not now then in the near future, what
bail bondsmen, modern day bounty hunters, call a 'bad
flight risk'. Hunted down by the militant arm of the
inescapable Telstra corporation. Dang.


(To be continued..)


Frequently outsmarted by farm animals,
A.k.a. Fatman