June 26
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June 5
I barely got a chance to say, “Thanks for calling your psychic adviser,” before the guy started freaking out in my headset: “You’re going to hell, Antonio, if that’s your real name. You’re going to hell!”
He spent his whole twenty minutes reading me Bible verses and telling me how evil I am for daring to divine God’s will, or some crap like that. On and on and on and on.
“Woe unto the foolish prophets, that follow their own spirit, and have seen nothing.”
What is that even supposed to mean?
I used to love it when the callers did all the talking. You don’t have to worry about saying the right thing to keep them on the line, or the wrong thing that’ll make them hang up. All you have to do is kick back and say, “Mmm hmm, mmm hmm,” every few minutes while you space off about unicorns or whatever. But now, not so much.
I tried to tell Angry Bible Guy that it’s just a job and, besides, it says FOR ENTERTAINMENT ONLY on the bottom of all the ads, but that just made him more pissed. How dare I use that as an excuse? That’s what the Nazis did. That’s what those idiots in Washington are doing.
The only time he shut up is when he thought I went to look for my Bible. I told him I was going to mark down all those passages as soon as we hung up and he was like, “Why don’t you do it now?”
“It might take me a while to find it.”
He said, “I can wait,” which is the absolute worst thing to say to somebody whose job is to keep you on the phone for as long as possible.
Like a dumbass, I said, “Really?” which is negative, instead of, “Okay,” which is affirmative.
But he still said, “Of course, son. I’m tryin’ to save yer soul.”
The last thing I really wanted to do was defend Appalachian TeleServices, but, I mean, what did
