Sometimes, the most unexpected things happen to me while I'm working. I usually mind my own business—if you know me, you know that's what I do. I was doing just that, working a claim, when the phone rang in my ears, and I answered it. I announced the name of my company, said my name, and waited for the other person to start speaking.
When he did, when Mr. Donald Wilson began speaking, he was rude. He must have gotten up on the wrong side of his bed, or maybe he had his pants on backward, I just couldn't know for sure, but he was not being very nice to me, and when that happens I make the active and very purposeful decision to remain quiet so that I can't be dragged into some awful and worthless conversation; usually on the defense. This man was nothing more than a baiter and was pretty good at it, too.
As he continued to berate me, and cut down my company, I waited for that perfect lull in the conversation, and I asked him point blankly, "Are you done?" I know, and you know, that when someone does that, it can only bring about the exact emotional response that it always brings about. He flew off into the sky of skies and continued to besmurch me, my company, the methods I used, my training, he wasn't satisfied with just being a rude fool, he had to go the extra distance and be sure that I would forever remember him; he called me a name.
Now, in the past, as I have done, when someone calls me a bitch, I would come back with, "That's Dr. Bitch, I have earned my Ph.D. and you have probably not; so yes, it is Dr. Bitch, thank you." That's my normal comeback, but I've been told I can't say that at work. That's why I simply remained quiet again, allowing Mr. Wilson to blow up the recorded telephone call with his ugly -- very ugly -- words.
After he became a little calmer, I asked again if he was finished. Then I quickly, before he could say anything, let him know that due to his flagrantly unprofessional and crude language use, I would now terminate the call. I instructed him to call back when he felt he could do so, with grace and consideration. I let him know, before he could butt in again, that I would not accept his call within the next three business days. He could email me, or he could wait a while and call back when he had settled down a bit. Before I hung up, because I am a Southern woman, I did say "Bless your heart", just before I disconnected the call.
Mr. Wilson did call back. He called back immediately, but I refused to answer. He wrote to me using pretty much the same language, and I copied the email and put it into his file. I noted the account, and when time passed, he decided to call again, and he was in no better mood than he had been. He was still yelling at me as if I was the problem, when he, and his crew, had dug a huge hole in the ground without a legal right or authority to do so. He cut a large conduit with hundreds of pairs of copper cables, dismantling communications for thousands of people and businesses, but yes, somehow, it was now all my fault - at least he was saying how unwilling he was to pay the fees my company was asking him to pay.
Again, I explained how two-way communications would go from this point forward, but Mr. Wilson was adamant that the rest of the world could do sexually explicit things to themselves, while he relaxed and ruled or lorded over us. Again, I excused myself and terminated the call. Before I did, however, I reminded him of his past name calling. I explained that, although I was not an excavator, I did hold a Ph.D. in administration. I would exercise my rights and training by terminating the call and then escalating the claim through the recommended legal review process.
Then, because I can, I killed Mr. Donald Wilson in my new book "Dion". He will not be identified to the point that anyone can say it was this particular Mr. Donald Wilson, but I may send him a copy of the book and then highlight that paragraph. I may do that. I will do that. I'm very nice like that. I will give you a free copy of my book if I write about you in it -- so kind. Mr. Wilson (in the book) digs without a locate, and there is no legal authorization to do so. He cuts a 400 pair 24 gauge conduit and cable, which ends up electrocuting him, before throwing him from the excavator, up and over the arm, into the hole, and then the heavy 5000 pound bucket head of the excavator plows through him - cutting him in two pieces. It's not murder, but it got done.
Oh, how I love my job. I love my job, and I love to write, and when these types of opportunities pop up - well, I am so very pleased to take full advantage of them.
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