As some of you are aware, Rocker has been in bloodless combat with Verizon, aka "We're the phone company, we don't have to care," for several months. I am happy to report that a truce was signed at 1000 hours, this date, when a hoity-toidy Verizon Junior Executive In Training realized that Rockerbilly, the ONE TRUE Un-reconstructed Native Born Appalachian American, doesn't give a tinker's damn for anyone from Up There.
Today's events occurred because of Rocker's steadfast refusal to return telephone calls from Verizon. So, Verizon sends Rocker a letter informing him that a representative would be calling on him at his home on Wednesday, June 5, 2002. Rocker replied, informing Verizon that no one, absolutely no one, tells Rocker what they are going to do on his property, and I might see the representative at a time mutually agreed on. Finished them off with an admonition against ever threatening me again!
When the Ivy League Verizon Junior Executive In Training arrived today, he started off with a proper introduction, and said, "I am Mr Soandso, and I would like to talk to you about your phone." What an idiot! Told Ivy League what he needed to talk about was Verizon's total and complete disregard for its customers. Blinking several times, Ivy League inquires as to what Verizon needed to do to stop Rocker from sending letters to Senators Byrd and Rockefeller, and Congresswoman Shelly Moore Capito. Replied, telling Ivy League Verizon couldn't stop Rocker from doing anything. He blinked a couple more times when he was told the best thing Verizon could do was improve its customer service.
As Ivy League was standing there - no, he was not asked to sit down and make himself to home - the phone message machine clicked on several times. Ivy League, being the ever-alert Phone Company Representative, said, "Your phone doesn't ring in!" Told him I already knew that. He says, "Why not?" Explained to him, much as one has to explain things to a small child, that Rocker had disconnected the ringer bells. He says, "Well, how do you know when you get a call?" Again, as in talking to a small child, explained that the machine screened all my calls and recorded them, and the people I feel like calling back, I do, and the rest get deleted. He got a blank stare, which was an improvement over the blinking. (Personally, I think Ivy League was a speech major, because he sure wasn't too bright.)
After telling him that the phone was mine and once the signal came into my home, I could do whatever I felt like, he started catching on. He pulled up to his full height, shot his cuffs once or twice, straightened his rep tie, looked at his spiffy Land's End loafers, and said he was prepared to make whatever offer was necessary to resolve our problem. So, we made a deal. (At this point, I figured I had beat the Phone Company so invited Ivy League to have a seat and make himself to home.)
The deal is this, I stop telling Verizon and its minions to stick their phone company up their sixes, stop writing letters and sending e-mails to Junior Jay, Bob "Take from the rich and give to the poor" Byrd, and my old pal Arch Moore's little girl Shelly. In return, Verizon provides Rocker with a year's supply of no-charge internet service.
Final score: Rocker - 10, Verizon - 0