If you are of a certain age, perhaps you now have an infuriatingly insipid song about Jenny stuck in your head. You are welcome.
The world changes fast. I used to take pride in being able to quickly recall the telephone numbers of bail agents all across the country. It didn’t hurt that they were almost invariably good telephone numbers, ending in 7777 or 9999 or spelling “bail” (2245) or sometimes “bond” (2663).
Today, I have close family members for whom I don’t have the foggiest idea what their telephone number is. Driving in the car, I announce “Call Brian” and the next thing you know I’m chatting with my son.
I have 6,231 contacts in my telephone but if I lose that phone, I’d be hard-pressed to get a hold of my own sister.
I used to carry a “skypage” beeper everywhere I went. If you needed to reach me you would dial a toll-free 800 number and punch in your own telephone number at the prompt. I would call back pretty much instantly, even during an anniversary dinner. This partly accounts for why I don’t celebrate those particular anniversaries anymore. I took pride in always being available. I still do. It’s an occupational hazard, always being easy to reach. Now it’s also by email, text and Facebook.
After all this time one thing remains the same: the only thing worse than the phone ringing all the time is the phone not ringing all the time.
Amazingly (to me, anyhow) there are bail agents today who are difficult to reach. I have encountered agents that have messages that say “the user has not set up a voice mail box for this number.” Or even worse, “the voice mail box is full. Good bye.” Those agents don’t usually last.
Some jails only allow collect calls to a bail agent. I take them. Do you?
At the risk of sounding like the late Andy Rooney here, how long are we going to talk about “hanging up” a telephone?
Give me a call sometime.