Lileks: How to cancel your landline in less than 30 minutes

I called the phone company to disconnect my landline ...

OK, I'll wait while you get it out of your system. "Gee, did you have a rotary dial? A candlestick phone? Do you have a Morse lamp? A telegraph? Gosh, you're old!"

Done? Good. No, the reason I ...

"Did you have a sundial, as well? Do you get your water from a bucket and a well?"

Shut up. I get it. The reason I had a landline was sheer laziness. A year ago I switched to VoIP (Voice Over Internet, Poorly, or something like that) but kept the phone in case there was a very specific tornado that took out the cellphone towers.

The only people who called were telemarketers and fundraisers. So I called to disconnect, and the nice operator gave me a rate of a dime a day for three months to see if I really might want to change my mind. So I agreed.

But then I heard from no one but telemarketers and fundraisers. So I finally called to disconnect, and let me tell you: I would rather step on a bear trap and saw off my leg than go through that again, because at least when you saw off your leg, you're in charge.

Them: "Your wish is my command. Let me press a button ... done! Goodbye." (Click)

Here's what actually happens (this is a fairly faithful transcription):

Me: "Hello, I'd like to cancel my phone, and before you start, there is nothing you can do to change my mind. Don't even try."

Link, the phone company guy: "I'm sorry to hear that. (Checks records.) Wow, you've had that number for 25 years. Why do you want to give it up now?"

Me: "Because no one ever called except crooks and beggars — and my mother-in-law. Now she calls our cellphones, so I can cancel the line without her thinking we moved and didn't tell her."

"My cellphone is able to connect me with the authorities."

"But what if there's a problem with the cellphone network? Severe weather can take them down, or a crisis can overload the network."

"I get that. But every day that I walk past my phone and there's no tornado, I realize that this thing is costing me money. It has me rooting for severe weather so I can recoup my investment. Besides, if a storm hits, I can make Wi-Fi calls."

"Not if your power's out."

"Link, please. Let me go."

"First, I charge my phone by my bed. Second, it's never below 40%. Third, how do you know this? Was it in her obit? 'Old Ma Perkins would be alive today if she hadn't canceled her landline?' "

"What if I gave you a whole month, free, just to make sure you still might need the phone."

"Let me ask you this: If I put a bag of food you don't like on your doorstep every day for a month, with the understanding that I would charge you at the end of the month for more bags of food you don't want, would that be a good deal? Please. Let me go. It's been a good run. No regrets."

He was silent for a while. "How about a $100 gift card?"

"Good for what? So you can charge me $100 and I can give you the gift card back as payment?"

"Oh! The internet! I've heard a lot about it! No, I have internet, and it's fast. It is eleventy gig a second. Entire 4K movies are downloaded in a nanosecond. I stream 'Titanic' and the ship actually sinks in 20 minutes, that's how fast it is. Sorry. No. My life is literally ticking away here. Please. No more. "

Pause. "OK. What if I offered ... " And then he chuckled. "Just kidding."

He was all out of options. I felt sorry for him. Some manager would look at the transaction and conclude that he hadn't retained a customer, and for some stupid, unfathomable reason known only to heartless bean counters who don't understand they are selling a dying product for which we have no use, they will blame him. Utterly unfair.

"Link, if I am ever in a war I want you in my foxhole, because you are tenacious. You do not give up. If anyone's listening, he almost got me with the $100 gift card."

We parted, adversaries saluting each other from rival sides of the battlefield.