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Journal Journal: The telemarketer

We have been on the DNC list since it was first established. That hasn't prevented the occasional telemarketer from bedevilling us. I take a daftie's approach with intrusive calls.

[Setting: The inglenuik off the kitchen. My teenage son, my son's friend, and I are eating a quiet dinner. The phone rings. I answer it.]

Me: Hello....

Telemarketer: Hi! My name is Jason. I'm from AT&T Wireless, and...

Me: AT&T. That's an American company if Ah'm no mistaken. Dae ye no realise you've called Scotland?

Telemarketer: Um... ah... But we're only dialing American numbers.

Me: Ah'm sittin' in ma wee hoose in a Hielan clachan. Ar' ye sellin' yer phones in th' Hielans th' noo?

Telemarketer: But...

Me: Haud yer wheesht! Dae ya think Ah dinnae ken whar ma hoose is, ya wee nyaff. Ye got yer numbers in a pure fankle. Mind an gies a break. Sort it oot an' dinnae call agin!

[The kids are doubled over with laughter, hands over their mouths to stifle the yowls.]

I ring off, and return to my dinner, gazing serenely out the window, enjoying the beauty of the sun sparkling over the water of Long Island Sound.

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