Missed Connections, Crossed Signals--and a Ringing Headache
Does this ever happen to you?
The telephone rings.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” you retort. “Who is this?”
“Did you call me?” the voice goes on. “Did you hang up and not leave a message?”
Ah. You’ve been star-69ed. The person on the other end of the line is using call return, a feature that automatically dials the number of the last person who called. For years, this service had to be special ordered. Then, last March, Pacific Bell made the feature standard equipment for all customers on a pay-per-use basis, and today, it’s the second most popular option after call waiting. (GTE plans to follow suit early next year.)
The selling point is that such a capability would discourage cranks and threatening phone calls. Just press the star (*) and 69, and find the annoying caller. Maybe it does deter cranks. But in the process, having given the public easy access to the power of automatic call return, Pacific Bell has created an annoying army of obsessives.
I do not make prank phone calls or threaten people while hiding behind the anonymity of the telephone, yet I suffer at the hands--or at the fingers, I should say--of these star-69ers on an all too regular basis. Why? Because I don’t leave messages unless they’re really necessary. I don’t see anything wrong with that. If it’s something that will be irrelevant when the person picks up the message, why bother leaving one, right?
Wrong. Among star-69ers, this seemingly innocuous habit is considered the height of rudeness. So I have been interrupted countless times by a phone call from somebody demanding to know who I am. After all the parties have identified themselves, I’m often berated for not having waited for the beep to leave a pointless message. Passion can run so high that often I find myself promising to leave detailed messages in the future--a promise, much to the detriment of my domestic tranquillity, that I seldom keep.
*
The star-69ers come in many varieties. The most inexcusable are the ones who cannot control their curiosity. “I wonder if anybody called me today,” they wonder as they come home and stare at the unblinking message light or the grim 0 on their answering machines--and then compulsively hit star-69. This species, unless I truly value their acquaintance, I don’t call anymore. Such irresponsible embracing of technology should not be without its consequences.
A lot of useless star-69ing is the product of urban paranoia. These shut-ins, who gorge on a psychologically unhealthy diet of “Cops” and “America’s Most Wanted,” tend to assume that every aborted phone call signals a murderer, rapist or burglar checking to see if they are home. Should I decide after a ring or two that I didn’t want to make the call, well, I’ll soon be dealing with the person anyway.
Nowhere is star-69 abuse more endemic than in the dating arena. This feature, after all, has added a whole new dimension to those painful games in which points are scored based on who calls whom, who calls whom first and who calls whom last. Say that girlfriend X will refuse on principle to call boyfriend Y until he calls her. But often, girlfriend X cannot resist star-69ing upon her arrival home to find out if boyfriend Y perhaps called and hung up. Given the politics of dating, it’s not a bad idea. If boyfriend Y did call and hang up, then he’s twice busted--once for calling first and twice for being a spineless worm and hanging up.
Unfortunately, it’s almost never the boyfriend who called. It’s usually me--looking perhaps for company to get a bite to eat but deciding to go alone after finding no one at home. So later, when the phone rings at my house, I pick it up to hear, “Oh, it’s only you.”
After a few of these, I no longer ask, “Who did you think would answer the phone at my house?” Because that person has not dialed my number, but, yes, star-69, on the outside chance that it might have been her long lost Y. So not only did I have to eat a meal in solitude, but now I must listen to the ravings of a spurned lover.
*
The zeal for star-69 reaches perhaps its most absurd apogee when employed by that breed that evolved with the answering machine age, the call screener. Now, the logic behind call screening is that you don’t want to pick up the phone until you know who is calling. But then, the star-69er calls an unknown someone who hasn’t left a message, defeating the purpose of screening in the first place--and incurring a 75-cent charge. Unless, of course, he’s opted for the flat-rate monthly fee of $3.50.
The fairest solution to what I see as the biggest disturbance of the peace since phone sales calls is for the all the Baby Bells to share a bit of the star-69 booty. Instead of greedily keeping the entire 75 cents for themselves, I propose they knock, say, 25 cents off my phone bill if I can demonstrate that I have been star-69ed without just cause. Sure, it’s an actuarial hassle, but we star-69 victims deserve compensation.
Perhaps, if there is enough pressure from the public, they’ll agree to do it. I’m planning to call all my friends to enlist them in my campaign. With some of them, I’ll leave messages and with others, I won’t. Doesn’t really matter, you see. Either way, I’m sure they’ll all get back to me.
