My cell phone rang a few minutes ago. It was my cell phone company (how’d they get my number?) calling to ask me when I was going to pay a bill.
I said “What bill? I have paid every bill I’ve received.”
She said, “Well, you haven’t paid.”
I said, “I get an email or a cell phone call when I am due to pay. I paid last month, when I got my email. I’m not supposed to pay until this month, and I haven’t gotten any bill in the mail, as a text, as an email or even a knock on the door. ”
She said, “Oh, by the way, what is the last 4 digits of your husband’s SS#?”
I rack my brain for the right series of numbers–go through both of our ss#s, our telephone number and my high school locker combination and then tell her.
She then says, “Yeah, that’s right. I need to verify your address but I can only do it with your husband–for privacy issues.” (So, I’m thinking why did I give her the last 4 digits of the ss# only for her to tell me that?)
“But, I’ve seen all of his privates. Really, it’s okay, he won’t mind if we talk about his address.”
“Sorry, I need him to call me and tell me it’s okay.”
I said, “Okay, what if I call back with a deeper voice and tell you that it’s okay to talk to me about our address?”
“No, just get him to call.”
“But, I know where he was born, his mom’s maiden name, his favorite team, and all of his passwords, isn’t that enough?”