Speaker’s corner

FOR all who occasionally have a really bad day and want to take it out on somebody, choose somebody you don’t know. This is the advice of a Ballito reader who assures me the following story – originally published in an American newspaper – is true. Of course it must be true; after all it was in the newspaper:

I had to phone a girlfriend and a man answered, “Hello?”

I said, “This is Patrick Hanifin, can I please speak to Robin?”

The guy at the other end slammed the phone down. It was a wrong number. How rude can a person be? Later I found that wrong number still lying on my desk so I rang it again, deliberately.

When the same person answered, I yelled, “You’re a BIG JERK!” and hung up.

Every time I had a lousy day, I’d ring him and yell, “You’re a big jerk!” Ah, how it cheered me up! Then the phone people introduced caller ID so I had to stop. But one day I had an idea. I dialled his number and said, “Hi. This is the sales office of your telephone company and I’m checking to see if you know about our caller ID programme?”

He snapped, “No!” and slammed the phone down.

I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re a big jerk!”

Days later, at the mall, I was waiting for an old lady to slowly, very slowly back out of a parking space. I reversed to give her more space and a black BMW zoomed in and took it. I yelled, “I was here first!” He made a rude sign.

I noticed he had a “For Sale” sign in the back window so I wrote down the telephone number.

A couple of days later I’m at home sitting at my desk. I had just phoned the original wrong number and yelled, “You’re a big jerk!” (I had his number on speed dial by now) when I noticed the phone number of the BMW guy so I phoned and asked if he was the man with the BMW for sale?” “Yes,” he said. “Where can I see it?” “I’m at 1802 West 34th Street – the yellow house. The car’s parked outside.” I asked, “What’s your name?” “Don Hansen. I’m home in the evenings.” “Listen Don, you’re a big jerk!” And I rang off.

I added Don Hansen’s number to my speed dialler. Now when I had a problem I had two big jerks to call.

But I soon grew tired of telephoning these big jerks and hanging up on them, so I phoned big jerk number one and yelled “You’re a big jerk!” But I didn’t hang up. He said, “Are you still there?” “Yeah!” He said, “What’s your name, pal?” I said, “Don Hansen.” He said, “Where do you live?” “1802 West 34th Street, the yellow house. My BMW’s parked outside.”

“I’m coming over Don, start saying your prayers.” “Big jerk!” I said and rang off. I then called big jerk number two and said, “Hello, big jerk!” He said, “If I ever find out who you are…” “You’ll what? Ha! I’m coming over right now, you big jerk!”

Then I called the police and told them I lived at 1802 West 34th Street and had just killed my lover.

Then I called the regional radio station’s Channel 13 and told them about the gang war going on down on West 34th Street.

After that I climbed into my car and headed over to 34th Street to watch the whole thing.

Oh what glorious satisfaction… watching two idiots punching the daylights out of each other in front of six squad cars, a police helicopter and a television camera crew.

I felt marvellous for days.