Little Black Book

555-HARM

One of those lines that doesn’t ever ring, an automated system where your patient (or sudden) revenge is handled by a touchtone list.

“For slow and painful, please press four.”

So, I pressed four. Finally connected with a live operator, I was able to complete the order in a matter of minutes and card numbers.

“A representative will be there at some time between eight AM and midnight, thank you for your order and we hope—“

Hope all you want, I don’t have time for pleasantries anymore.

555-HOME

No answer, predictable. That little nothing is up to who-knows-what, so, I 555-Runhometoseeformyself.

The less-than-reliable Japanese car, Clarice, whines in an abused tone as I brake in the driveway, audible even over the bass that shakes every mirrored surface in sight. I know she just wants to break in the driveway. Maybe someday, old friend. You have a resting place reserved for your ancient body in my lawn. You will piss my neighbors off long after your demise.

Pull the door closed quietly, 555-Creeeeep in, mind the dial tone.

I sneak from skeleton-closet to skeleton-closet, flipping endless lights on and off, this switchboard is enormous.

555-WAIT

Patiently, by the front door. You aren’t here, and they’re coming to collect any minute (if the operator was correct). The bell 555-RINGs, and I open the door with my finest host’s smile.

“Z?”

“…yes, but I called you in regards to another.”

“555-HARM works on a first come, first serve basis. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

I can't help but think I just got 555-FUCKed as they handle the service call with the utmost professionalism.