prolific.org

A few days ago, I cancelled my KPN telephone subscription. I hardly ever use my landline and really don’t like being called on it. It’s interesting how someting once so essential can become superfluous.

Only a handful of people had its – unlisted – number. I generally use my mobile to make the few calls I make and have done for the last decade or so. The KPN subscription was a waste of money.

I got an XS4ALL (my adsl provider) VOIP number at 5 euro per month instead. I don’t expect to use it much, but it’s nice to have anyway. I plugged my old phone into my modem yesterday, it was surprisingly easy. Had to fiddle around with the settings a little. Tested the old number. No answer. Good. Tested the new… yep, it worked.

Five minutes later the phone rang. Huh?

‘Hello, this is KPN, is this Ms Prolific? As a valued customer, we have an offer for you…’

‘I no longer am a KPN customer. I cancelled my number this week.’

‘OK, have a nice evening.’ *click*

How did they get through to me? Did they ring my old number? Or the new VOIP number? How would they even know my VOIP number?

I’m puzzled.

My $#*&*%$!! Nokla 3650 broke at exactly the wrong moment, on the eve of the funeral. With a cousin who doesn’t know his way around Amsterdam driving down from Paris to pick me up in the morning. So instead of taking the time, as planned, to sort out which new telco and service to pick (as my current sub is due to end soon) I had to rush into town to get me something really quickly. The sales boy (so young I can’t possibly call him a man) had an easy time with me rushing into buying something off him. Still, he didn’t expect me to ask what OS the phones had. Isn’t that his job to know?

And so I ended up with that damn Sony Ericsson K750i (with the 2.0 mp camera in it) that all my mates seem to have and another TWO years stuck with KPN (to cut down the price on the phone) since I couldn’t afford a whole lot right now. ‘Annoyed’ doesn’t describe it. I had been thinking of switching to T-mobile. And sticking with Nokia, but they didn’t have any of the pretty models.

My home phone is dying as well, most of the time I don’t notice. My cousin just rang and I could barely make out his question through the flakey connecton: ‘what about flowers’. And I hadn’t thought of that at all and god dammit we’re a fucking useless family, but I think, or I hope we can just about order something in time tomorrow morning via Interflora. And those bastards don’t half rip you off for a funeral wreath, do they? Christ.

Fucking. useless. us.

One thing I’m not doing is panicking over what to wear, the quintessential funereal stress. My calculating self picked up something suitable in New York.

Hello?
Hmmrrvvw
Is that you?
MwwImmmmtrappednerveinmebackgrrheavypainkillerzz.
That sounds bad.
RvvrvwoarrestingthenflyinintoDingletuesdaynightcantriskdaroads.
Oh dear.
Whenaayoucommenin?
Tuesday evening, coach from Cork to Tralee then on to Dingle.
Isziscostinyouaforchune?
Yeah. It’s ok, it’s my Christmas holiday.
Waahtwonightsinbloodydingle?
I’ll go to Dublin after.
Hrrmhayoushomewhedastay.
Sorry?
Mmmindingle?
…
//sigh// Have. you. a. hotel. to. stay. at?
Um, yeah… B&B.
Hmmthacoubequaint
It’s overlooking the harbour.
Deesounchuksat12comealongtotha’
Ok, yeah, I will.
Wellah.. ahmeetchu… ahtexchuwhenIcomein…
OK, take care now, look after yourself.
Moutamahhead. Mgonnasleep. Ahmonheavymedicashun…
I know. Go to bed now.
Mmkaybyeiwillseeyoutuesdaynigh…

We’re dependant on the network’s reach.

It’s been a while, a week, or more, or less. My head’s been killing me and my shoulders ache in synch. I got a signal outside, he says. How are ya? OK, I say and pause. Continue: moody, up and down like usual.

He says I need a break. I know, I say. I’ve got one coming up in August.

What are my plans, he wants to know. I stretch out on the sofa and listen to his footsteps and the wind blowing as he walks the road to Mizen head. Any further out West and he’d be in Americay.

Marseille, ’cause I like harbours, I proclaim, or maybe Nice, the flights are cheaper. I don’t know and I’ve no money either. It’s tough on your own, I confess.

That’s life, baby.

I remember Mizen head and the journey home — how that man and I listened to the radio as they took Diana to Westminster Abbey. That was the end of that, the golden girl and our tryst laid to rest in one sad week.

Take a train, he says, like he’s read my mind. Like he always does. (“Why don’t you move to Amsterdam?”) I might just do that. Take a train. Travel.

There’s no train to Mizen head.

Hey. Are you in the middle of it?

No.

Are you at work?

No, at home.

Can you… um… I have a computer question. Are you an iBook person?

// you KNOW I don’t have an iBook //

I don’t have an iBook, but I’m sure I can help you. I’ve helped you before, remember?

Yeah. Well, you see, my mail is all fucked up. You know new mail always comes in at the top? Well now it’s all messed up and it comes in somewhere in the middle and I can’t find it.

Sounds like it’s sorting on subject, not on date.

// Other phone rings //

Hello? HELLO? Well FUCK OFF so.

// Doorbell rings //

Now the doorbell rings. I’m fucking on the phone. This is my life. This is my life for the last month. Hello? How’ye. I’m on the phone. Yeah, um…

Your mail.

Yeah, um… it’s messed up.

Are you near your computer?

I was opening the door! [...] I’ll start it up. It’s warming up now. Anyway, while it’s doing that…

(30 minute convo)

OK, so take it easy…

But what about your mail?

Huh?

I was supposed to help you with your mail.

Oh… yeah, um…

What e-mail programme do you use? Entourage?

No. Um… I don’t know. Just…

OK, look at your mail. See the column with the date? Go right to the top. What’s there?

Um… there’s a little light to see how much battery you have and…

No, in your mail programme. Your mail is divided into columns. What’s at the top of your date column? Can you click that?

I don’t understand.

Riiight…

I’m sorry, I am not very good at this.

Etc.