You know that funny feeling when the cell phone vibrates in your tight jeans pocket, and you struggle to extract it before the caller hangs up. Sitting in a movie theater is tougher because you know to leave it alone. But, it continues to zing—zing—zing, vibrating like a terrified june bug caught in your pants.
A couple days ago, my phone wouldn’t stop zinging. Starting at 10:30 in the morning, I got a call from San Antonio, TX. I know no one there. It’s hot, dusty, and except for the Alamo and the acclaimed Riverwalk, San Antonio doesn’t figure on my list of destinations, let alone origins. But the phone zings insistently.
It’s an unrecognizable number. Area code 210. I skip it.
A few minutes later, another call. San Antonio again. Flush it.
Two more calls after that, and I decide to pick up.
“This is to inform you that your Social Security Number has been suspended, and that there is a warrant for arrest under your name. Please call back immediately…”
I give high marks for originality on this call. It turns out that so does the caller, because they continue to zing in my pocket until a little after noon. 13 calls in total. 13 spoofs: each number changed, but the origin and area code remained San Antonio, Texas.
Next to our annual plague of stink bugs, I think the robo call is the most obnoxious–and noxious–element in our midwest existence. What amazes me is that nothing much is ever done about it.
The telemarketing channel has been a constant irritant to me, and to probably 99% of the adult American public. In fact, it was the subject of my very first post in 2013: Let Me Get This Call.
In a typical day, we will receive at least 5 calls. I am thankful for these, as:
- They force me to get up and walk to the phone, providing necessary joint movement;
- They frequently remind me that I am eating dinner when they call;
- The calls provide a fleeting moment of excitement thinking a family member is calling.
We’ve nearly reached the tipping point to give up our land line, which was the main robo conduit into our normally quiet existence. And then the cell phone becomes the new target. What to do?
I looked up the Do Not Call registry, and confirmed that all three of our phones have been registered since 2005. Fat lot of good that has done.
Checking the FCC page, I read some business-like claims by the department head that multi-million dollar fines have been handed out recently. $80 million. $40 million. Serious money, but the zinging doesn’t stop.
The government site points to the measures that phone companies are taking. AT&T, my server, offers a Call Protect App for the zinging cell phone. It’s free, and I install it. Then quickly and effortlessly the app reports I have had no robo calls in the last 30 days! What about the last three hours?
A Facebook friend has suggested I take a third party anti-robo app. I may do so. We’ll see how AT&T performs over the next few weeks.
Surely AT&T wants us to keep all of our phones, right? But mean time, I have this nagging concern. AT&T is now HQ-ed in Dallas, Texas, area code 210.
Could it be possible? No, don’t even think of it.