$84.31 by patrik wijkstrom	I pay my phone bill on time. I like to do that, pay on time. I don't want anyone to think I am not responsible. That I have no respect. Last month I called for $84.31. I don't remember talking to anyone. But my phone bill is $84.31. It never lies. So I look at the listed phone numbers on page 1, 2, 3, and 4. But I still don't remember calling those numbers. But they do go to people I know, at least that is what the phone book tells me. On page 5 of my bill, there is a charge from the long-distance company for $10.31. I guess they must be right too, the figures that is. I am not sure about the phone number though. I did call someone in Europe, but who and what did we talk about? It doesn't matter. I just want to pay the bill on time. I have three phones in my apartment. I bought them four years ago at Macy's, the large and expensive department store in the shopping mall close to me. They had a sale on creamy white phones with big golden buttons and a long, almost endless, spiral white cord to the hand set. Around the base they had this black decorative line that I like. And when I held one in my hand as I would be when talking through it, it felt right. It was the right weight. Not too heavy and not too light. Just about right. The box said it weighed 3.2 ounces. The base itself weighed 6.7 ounces. But that didn't bother me. I didn't plan to hold the base in my hand while talking anyway. The phones were just about right. And they were reduced by 30%. So I bought three with my credit card. I have one phone in my bedroom, one in my living room and one in my kitchen. I don't have very much else. I have a bed in my living room. My bedroom is empty; it's too small for me, so I keep it shut. Sometimes I go in there when I don't want to be disturbed. No one can call me in there. I have set the ringer on that phone to off, and I pretend not to hear the other phones as I can feel the chatter coming toward me. The chatter comes from these voices. I don't know their faces. I don't even know if they have a face. It might just be the computer at the phone company. But the voices keep on talking about the stupid and fantastic events in their lives. It rings and it rings and I lift the hand-set. "You should have seen the car I saw yesterday. It was this white BMW full with stickers everywhere. And I mean everywhere. And they had these two dogs peering out the window. I mean it looked so cute." I listen. I am polite. I can't just hang up on them. That would be rude. So I say, "On the days when life is cute, I put my gardenias in a bowl and drain them with Windex. What do you think about that?" "Oh, that's lovely. You're too funny. I really must be going now. I call you later, OK?" "Sure," I say. Then I hang up. I lift the hand-set again. Maybe this time the line will be empty. But there it is. Someone is there, globbering. "I went to the hairdresser. And she said I looked much better in curls. What do you think I should do? Should I go with it, just like that?" "Do whatever," I say. "You know it might be better to stay with what I have now. Straight hair isn't that bad. But I really wonder what it would look like." It's noon. The neighborhood is peaceful. But it rings. The ringing has gone to my head. I pick it up. "My cousin got married on Friday. It was a beautiful wedding. Flowers and ornaments. And their son, little 1 year old Josh didn't even squeal in the church. You know, he squeals all the time otherwise. He's such a little baby." I want to laugh at them. Want to scream through the copper wire. Maybe I should buy a megaphone. That might work. Want to tell them to keep their mouths shut. But I don't. I think it's the phone company checking if I am respectful, see, checking my language. I don't want to give them a reason to disconnect me. So of course I am courteous to them. So the voices go on. "I got a promotion. Now I make enough money to buy that Lexus I have been longing for. I will look so good in it." They call me at all hours. Often just as I am falling into the land of beautiful dreams where she has begun to talk to me, unplugged and sensual. Talks to me about her desires. How she wants to be stroked. How she quivers when I touch # and *, her erotic zones. Finally alone, she whispers in her low voice. Finally it's silent. Take me. And just when the yearnings run through me, just when we are making out, it rings. I know it rings. So I sit up and lift the hand set, but it's just my dialing tone. But I know it rings. I sleep naked. Then if I want, I can always reach out for the phone. I often wrap the cord around my neck when I sleep. That way the phone company can hear my heart beat so they know I am still connected. But I do have a pillow. I don't sleep on the phone. That would make it more dirty. Can't have that. But I have no pillowcase. I like the tingling of the goose feathers poking through. The sheets are blue. Light blue. Just like the heaven is when I look out my window. I do that often when I am on the phone. It gives me something to talk about. "Listen, the weather is nice outside. Wouldn't you like to go out and play in the sun instead of talking to me? You don't? That's so sweet of you. But I know you're lying. I don't want to talk to someone who is lying. Good-bye." The sky is good for many conversations. "White things in the sky move fast.Way fast. Should try to catch them sometimes. Yes, sometimes. Listen to me. Don't play games with me. I know what you're up to. You lie and you cheat. I don't think there is anything I can do for you. You, you're just like the rest. You could never catch the white things, sometimes darker. I must go now. Don't have time to teach you all these things all the time. Don't you ever learn? I don't understand why I spend time talking to you." I have my suit cleaned every week. It's a black, starched, pressed business suit. I bought it years ago for $356.87. It wasn't on a sale. But it gave the right impression. It feels good strolling through the apartment, knowing that I look stunning. Knowing that I appear impressive. I only have one suit. And I always wear it throughout the day. It takes 5 hours for them to clean it. Meanwhile I wait in the hall-way in my boxer shorts and black socks. But I don't wear my black Dexters when the suit isn't on me. That wouldn't be right. I wait in the hall-way as I don't want to miss the ringing of the bell when they come back. I don't want them to think I am not home. I don't want them to think I have run away because I wouldn't have the $17.56 to pay the bill. The phone in my kitchen is broken. I spilled coke on it. But it wasn't my fault. The man who delivered food to me must have shaken the can. See what I mean, no respect. The hand set works though, so I still get a signal when I lift it off the hook. But I can't dial. But I use it to see if I am still connected. The phone company has no respect either. They would probably disconnect me and blame it on me for not paying my bill. Not me. I always pay my bill. But if I keep on lifting the receiver off the hook they'll see I am using the phone, so they won't turn it off. I try to teach people respect over the phone. I want to do my share. I call people up at night and ask, "Do you know what respect is?" Late night is the best time to call them. Otherwise they're out. No one home. I don't know what they're doing outside all the time. I don't know what there is to do. Maybe they're out paying their bills. I don't have many bills. I slip the rent money ($725) under the door for the landlord on the 25th each month. So I only get to talk to their answering machines. And on them I only get about a minute before I am turned off. I can't teach them very much respect in one minute. So I have prepared a statement that I always use when I come to an answering machine. I have written it down on a note pad next to the telephone. I don't want to make any mistakes. I don't want anyone to think I make mistakes, that I have no respect for the system. The note pad has a red cover and is lined. And it has thick paper. Thick paper is good. It's solid and sturdy. The way things should be. Not this rickety stuff. I used my felt pen to write down the words. It took a long time. But I like the message now. I spent a lot of time polishing the words. They must be right. The message must be right. It must be correct. "Listen up. This is your teacher. This is an important message. I call to tell you about what you need to know. You need all the advice you can get. So listen carefully. Have you paid your bills? All your bills? You need some respect. Shape up. You have no right to have a phone unless you show some respect to me. "And by the way, shouldn't you be home watching the telephone now. You have to show some respect to the phone company and to me. If you don't I will be upset. And you don't want to see me upset. I get really upset. Especially when people don't pay their bills. It's my time I have to use up on you to tell you this, you creep. I have better things to do than to play your nanny. Hey, don't you dare turn off the message now. Don't you dare. Listen up. This is the first reminder. Don't make me call again. Don't make me come over." I talk slow. I don't want them to misunderstand anything, so that they can't blame me when they get disconnected. All they have to do is follow my advice and they will be fine. But I think some can't get any respect, no matter what I do. It's strange though, those I teach respect get their phones disconnected. Maybe they don't pay their bills on time. Or it's the phone company. They think they can treat people anyway they want. And they do. Most of the people in my little black book have been disconnected. But I find new ones in the phone book. The phone company charges $3.25 for something they call universal lifeline telephone service. They say it's for people who can't afford a telephone line otherwise. I say it's wrong. If you want something you have to work for it. I don't know why I should help to pay for their phones. I don't want to talk to them. Poor, non-respectful little shit heads. Maybe they think they can get away with their phony, cheating game. Well, they're wrong. Just you wait until I get to teach them some respect. You have to work, do your share. That's what I teach them. So I spend all this time teaching them. It makes me depressed sometimes, that I have to waste my time on them. But I have to do my share. And at least the local calls are free. 12 mile radius. There is a lot of people in that radius. But some of my calls are in zone 3. They cost 9 cents for the first minute and then 7 cents for the next. Sometimes I think these people outside the local call area don't exist. They're probably just made up by the phone company to increase my bill. But the phone company can't get to the phone in my bedroom. I have hidden it there so they don't know about it. The only thing I have in my bedroom is the phone, actually. It blends with the carpet so I often can't find it. I have no light in this room. The two windows on the west side of the apartment building are facing the school, the junior high. The school bell rings often at the school. At least once an hour. Sometimes even more when they have a fire drill. Then all the kids come rushing out, and they all gather on the football field. And the ringing of the bell is drowned in the children's chatter and the teachers' screaming through megaphones at them to keep their mouths' shut and form lines. I have thought about moving. The ringing and the noises gets too much for me sometimes. But the street is quiet otherwise. It is a 25 mph street, with signs everywhere saying "Watch the kids. Slow down. It could be yours." I guess that is why the cops are never on my street: there is no one to catch. In my living room there is also a TV. But I don't watch it anymore. There is no time for it; I'm waiting for the phone to ring. I like to pick up the phone sometimes just to feel the weight of the hand set and the smooth polished plastic surface. Besides, I need to know that I am still connected. I take the phone and stroke it against my naked body and I can feel the tingling, the sensation spreading through me. It leaves me senseless. Sometimes I pick up the phone just as someone is calling me. I pick up the phone before a ringing signal gets through. I am picking up the phone and there is someone at the end of the line spitting words at me. I slam the hand set on the base unit and scream. Then I count to 30 and lift the hand set. Then I get just my dialing tone. But they might call back, so I keep on lifting the hand set. If I have a dial tone they can't get through and I am safe. But I can't keep the phone off the hook all the time because then the phone company will think I am not using the phone, that I have accidentally put it off, and then they will disconnect me. So I keep on doing it. I count to 30 and lift the hand set. For hours sometimes. The numbers on the phone in my living-room are dirty. I have been calling too much. The phones of the people I call must be even dirtier. I don't want to talk to anyone who has a dirty phone. They have no respect. Dirty words coming from dirty hands on dirty hand-sets. Their mouths are probably dirty too. They don't wash their fucking hands and mouths for days. Sickening. I don't understand why I spend time talking to them. But I have to teach them. "What do you mean I have no respect? You're just full of shit. It's people like you that break the system. Oh yeah, you talk and you talk but there is never a sensible word coming out of your mouth. Never any. And I feel sorry for you. So sorry. Can't you see how pathetic you are? I always use Zest. I recommend that you do, too. That might help a bit. For what? For your little dirty mouth of course. If you don't watch out it's gonna smear dirt all over your hand-set." My phone company gives me 6 allowances for directory assistance (411) each month. I always use them. I call 411 and ask about such and such's number, even though I have it already. So I get the number while reading in my phone book. It's reassuring. It lets me know they still exist. I know they still exist, but the rest of the world might not. But if they are in the computer at the phone company, they must exist. And the rest of the world must know about them. I mean anyone can call 411 and find out. I mostly call 411 to ask about my number, ask if it still exists. They say it does, but I think they might be lying. So I wait 45 seconds and call them back again. I need to talk to a different operator. I can't trust just one. Last month I used 5 of them. If I use more than six, they cost 25 cents each. But for 25 cents I can call over 3 minutes in zone 3. This makes it hard. It's a hard decision. But right now I would rather call 411 than zone 3 as I am not that interested to talk to anyone. I don't know what to say to them anyway. I could tell them about the ringing at the school, but I don't think they would be that interested. They don't see how disruptive this ringing is for the system. Or I could tell them about stamps. Stamps are good and helpful and all, but they're so old-fashioned. I mean who needs to send letters when you can pick up the phone and call. Letters are good for paying bills, though. I could pay the phone bill with my credit card, but then I still have to pay the credit card company, and I have to pay them by mail. It says on my latest phone bill that they received my last payment of $103.45. I am glad I paid them. Now, no one can say that I never pay my phone bill. And on time too. I am untouchable. I am part of a community; we who pay our bills. We have something in common: respect. We respect the web of society, the fundamental causes for the well being of humanity. Imagine a world where no one ever paid on time. The system would collapse. And the system is important. Without a system, humanity would collapse and destroy itself. Bills are important, they keep the system going. People must be responsible for what they buy. You just can't have people running around who don't respect things. I know of people who don't pay their bills on time. I don't like them. They don't have control of things. Sometimes I wish they weren't in the phone book. They don't deserve to have a phone unless they pay on time. Why shouldn't they pay on time when I have to? Bastards. But I am not scornful, I respect them anyway. Those bastards. They make me sick. Sick, sick, sick. Maybe I should look them up and strangle them with some phone wire. That would be appropriate. Then I could leave a sign stating "disconnected" on their chests.
Copyright Patrik Wijkstrom 1996