Blogging 365, Day 70: No Son of Mine


Okay, MetroPCS. I don’t know what’s going on here but I’m getting tired of it.

Well, fine, maybe it’s not your fault entirely but I don’t know who else to blame at this point.

A few days ago I mentioned that since switching over to MetroPCS as my cell phone service provider, I’ve been getting swamped with from Oregon calls about my non-existent child Jordan being absent from school and needing a doctor’s note upon his/her return, Walgreens calling about Jordan’s prescription being ready, etc. While I’ve been able to resolve the issue with the school and I’ve informed the others that they have the wrong person, I finally got a call from California the other day that, given my history of dealing with this wonderful state’s public assistance program, will prove to be difficult if not impossible.

I didn’t pick up the call because I’m tired of dealing with people that I have no business dealing with in the first place. I decided to let it go to voicemail so that I could listen to it later should the caller decide to leave a message in the first place (they rarely do).

And oh, did they leave a message albeit a recorded one.

It turns out that, above everything else, Jordan’s dad is a deadbeat. You see, the call I got was from the Los Angeles County Courts telling me that I was late on my child support payment and to call and make arrangements to pay up.

So now I’ve got the courts calling me. This is fucking fantastic.

The call I made was to an automated payment system in which I was asked my case number (or something like that) and my Social Security number. I couldn’t give them the case number since I’m not the loser they’re looking for and I’ll be damned if they are getting my SSN because this is as far as I dare go with this little problem. They don’t need to know that.

So I tried to give them a call to straighten this out but naturally they were closed on Sunday. Instead, I sent them an email – direct and via online form – explaining my situation and to call me as soon as they can so that I could give them more information.

Of course, I’ve yet to hear from them. Perhaps they needed a dictionary to look up some of the words I used in the email. But if they are anything like the state’s public assistance programs then I’m in for a battle with people who can barely speak English but make twice the money I do while being able to retire on the pension I will paying for them.

But I digress.

You know, it’s bad enough I’m getting calls about some doofy kid named Jordan not picking up his meds and skipping school. I thought that switching over to a new number would end the problems I was having with Virgin Mobile.

Now I get this shit? It turns out that my problems may have just begun.

And honestly, I hope they get the guy they are looking for. Deadbeat dads deserve to be dragged through the legal and court systems in order to support their child(ren), and then drained financially. They are worthless garbage and not real men. Believe me, I know.

Okay, I’m done. I need to meditate and get centered again.

Namaste.

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Blogging 365, Day 66: Wrong Number


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Since switching to MetroPCS just a few weeks ago after dumping Virgin Mobile, I’ve been getting a lot of wrong numbers. In fact just minutes after having the phone activated and while still standing at the counter, I received some sort of text invite for an app I didn’t even know the phone had. I honestly think the phone was just handed to me at that point and I hadn’t even had the time to look through it yet.

The calls continue and they all have one thing in common: they are all from Oregon and so far I’ve received them from a school, a pharmacy, the Oregon Chamber of Commerce and the Oregon Forensic Institute.

So to all of these places, I have a few words.

To the school: I don’t have a son/daughter named Jordan (name changed to protect the innocent). Besides, I’m not quite sure which gender that name is appropriate for and therefore wouldn’t name any of my kids that.

To Jordan’s parents: Get their ass to school. And when you take them, the secretary wants a doctor’s note to prove they’ve been sick. And oh, Jordan’s prescription is ready at the Generic Pharmacy.

To Generic Pharmacy: I’m not Jordan’s parent so I won’t be picking up his/her drugs.

To the Oregon Chamber of Commerce: I live in California and have never been to Oregon, let alone tried to start a business up there (although I hear it’s very pretty).

To the Oregon Forensic Institute: I’m not crazy and cannot confirm that I will be at my scheduled appointment. And you have the wrong number.

To the kid (from California) who called today asking for Dad: I am a dad – just not yours. Hope you get in touch with him. Maybe you should try going on Maury.

And to all those other random nutjobs who keep calling me: knock it off already.