The Bitch Don’t Live Here!
Who the hell – (or more precisely where the hell) -- is Amy L. Ashbrook, age 31, of Omaha, Nebraska?
That’s the question that the Lovely Mrs. G. and I have been asking each other for three months now.
You see, apparently our new Omaha phone number used to belong to one Amy L. Ashbrook. And Naughty Miss Amy apparently has a bad habit of not paying off her debts.
So day and night we get calls from people (mostly collection agencies) looking for her. This, despite the facts that:
1 – We’ve never met the tramp.
2 – She’s never lived here.
3 – No, we have no frigging idea where she is now.
Our number was issued to us last December – over 3 months ago. And being standard telco protocol, I’m sure it was disconnected for a good 6 months before it was reissued to us.
That’s the question that the Lovely Mrs. G. and I have been asking each other for three months now.
You see, apparently our new Omaha phone number used to belong to one Amy L. Ashbrook. And Naughty Miss Amy apparently has a bad habit of not paying off her debts.
So day and night we get calls from people (mostly collection agencies) looking for her. This, despite the facts that:
1 – We’ve never met the tramp.
2 – She’s never lived here.
3 – No, we have no frigging idea where she is now.
Our number was issued to us last December – over 3 months ago. And being standard telco protocol, I’m sure it was disconnected for a good 6 months before it was reissued to us.
So why these idiot collection agents think they can call a number that’s a minimum of 9 months from its shut-off date and harass ME about Amy’s debts to society is beyond me.
So tonight I decided to strike back at the jerks.
The phone rang at around 8:30. I was busy watching “Death Proof”, Quentin Tarantino’s latest art du film, so already I was in a wound up mood from all the blood and gore and guts (and gratuitous use of the F-bomb).
The conversation went something like this:
“Put Amy on the phone,” the voice grunted.
“Can’t do that, sweet cheeks,” I answered. (I thought embarrassing him by calling him cutesy pet names would rattle his cage.) “The bitch don’t live here.”
“Then gimme her spouse.”
“Are you not listening, dumpling? This isn’t Amy’s number.”
“It’s what I’ve got listed for her.”
“Well, your listing is wrong, honey. Like I said, the bitch don’t live here. This is my number, not hers.”
“Is this a new number for you?”
“Yes, darling.” (Even I was getting uncomfortable with the lovey-dovey names by this point...) “This was her phone number at some point in history, but now it’s mine.
“Oh.”
“All I know is that my phone rings all day with people looking for her.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So if you happen to find Amy, will you tell her to quit giving out my goddamn number?”
And that’s where we left it. One collection agent down, a zillion more to go, I’m sure.
There’ a wonderful movie from the mid-80’s called “Amazon Women on the Moon.” It’s a sketch movie, sort of like “Kentucky Fried Movie”, for those of you who remember that. Anyway, in “Amazon Women” there’s a great sketch with Arsenio Hall (back when he was funny) having a reeeeeally bad day in his apartment while the phone rings nonstop with wrong numbers, all looking for “Thelma”.
So tonight I decided to strike back at the jerks.
The phone rang at around 8:30. I was busy watching “Death Proof”, Quentin Tarantino’s latest art du film, so already I was in a wound up mood from all the blood and gore and guts (and gratuitous use of the F-bomb).
The conversation went something like this:
“Put Amy on the phone,” the voice grunted.
“Can’t do that, sweet cheeks,” I answered. (I thought embarrassing him by calling him cutesy pet names would rattle his cage.) “The bitch don’t live here.”
“Then gimme her spouse.”
“Are you not listening, dumpling? This isn’t Amy’s number.”
“It’s what I’ve got listed for her.”
“Well, your listing is wrong, honey. Like I said, the bitch don’t live here. This is my number, not hers.”
“Is this a new number for you?”
“Yes, darling.” (Even I was getting uncomfortable with the lovey-dovey names by this point...) “This was her phone number at some point in history, but now it’s mine.
“Oh.”
“All I know is that my phone rings all day with people looking for her.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So if you happen to find Amy, will you tell her to quit giving out my goddamn number?”
And that’s where we left it. One collection agent down, a zillion more to go, I’m sure.
There’ a wonderful movie from the mid-80’s called “Amazon Women on the Moon.” It’s a sketch movie, sort of like “Kentucky Fried Movie”, for those of you who remember that. Anyway, in “Amazon Women” there’s a great sketch with Arsenio Hall (back when he was funny) having a reeeeeally bad day in his apartment while the phone rings nonstop with wrong numbers, all looking for “Thelma”.
Shortly before falling out of his multi-story window after tripping on the phone cord, Arsenio tells the caller that “The Bitch Don’t Live Here.”
So that’s my mantra from now on. Amy L. Ashbrook? The Bitch Don’t Live Here. Honey pie.
posted by Tommy G at
10:13 PM
2 Comments:
Don't worry, Amy isn't going anywhere. At least not from our experience. We have had our number for 8+ years now, and we still get calls for Brenda Williams. They have slowed down a bit, but we still get one once every other month or so.
By
Monty, at 10:39 AM
give her a call or text at 402 740 6609... its a number she set up for her married boyfriend while she was still married.. dude was military mp, with 2 kids, but left her husband and 2 kids for him... people like this need to be called out and held acountable for the lifes they destroy... 402 740 60009... amy lisset read... or amy lisset ashbrook...
By
Unknown, at 4:30 AM
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