I had a phone call yesterday.
I only get phone calls from three sources: my mother, who calls at precisely the same time every week; my best friend, who calls when walking the dog around a neighbourhood so tediously uniform that even listening to me drone on about my aches and pains leavens the experience somewhat; and robo-scammers. Anybody else texts or emails. Presumably for fear of interrupting my busy schedule. Or hearing about my aches and pains.
And it was from "Private Number", so either it was a robo-scammer, or possibly a government department which had suddenly "discovered" that I owed them thousands of dollars and could I please pay them by the end of the week, otherwise they'd take away my Low Income Health Care Concession Card and issue a Katy Should Pay Double For Absolutely Everything Card.
I took the call, but waited for an automated voice to kick in, so that I could hang up before leaving any clue that there was a living organism with a pulse and a bank account at my end of the wireless line. None came so I finally offered a tentative "Hello?"
"Hello, is this Katy?"
"Er… yes." Who wants to know?
Turned out it was just my bank wanting to confirm the change of name details I'd sent them months ago. I didn't mind telling them my mother's maiden name, bristled only a bit at my date of birth, but really, really did not enjoy having to say my deadname out loud. Blast; now I have to go get the wire brush and Dettol to scrub my mouth out.
A fifty-[mumble]-year-old lady should probably know enough people that answering the phone doesn't seem quite so fraught with peril.