Registration for the National Do-Not-Call List has now been available for a period of time sufficient enough so that logging into their website does not automatically crash your computer. I am finally registered, and so all we have to do is sit back for thirty-one days and wait for the sound of silence! I am not optimistic. Our phone rings through the evening with suitors revealed on our call display only by the names of various provinces or states. My favourite frequent caller rings me from 000-000-0000. I know, I know. Things are tough all over, and people need to make a living. I used to live next to a call centre in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and I would see these perfectly reasonable citizens huddling outside for smokes on their breaks. I am sure they are fine people. But I do not want to buy anything over the telephone, and I would never donate money without first getting information through the mail. Their time is wasted on me. The only two things I ever bought over the television were duds, and I have my list of charities and political organizations to which I give. I am a no go: leave me alone. I pick up the phone and say nothing, hoping, somehow, that someone will be charged for the call and be thus discouraged. But market forces work against me. If one lonely citizen listens to the pitch, I am sure this pays for a thousand conscientious objectors like me.
I gather that if I have ever bought anything from a would-be suitor, that company can still contact me. American companies calling from the United States cannot be governed by the rules that support this initiative. I read, this morning, that political candidates who are not members of political parties might soon be exempted, too. C'mon in, Janie Independent: the water is fine!
This is not an original thought, but how about a National Call List? We will tell you if we want you to call us, and then our evenings will be interrupted only by family, friends, and the occasional wrong number.
