We would call someone up and say something like, “Good afternoon maam, my name is Bill Williamson, from PacBell, and I oversee maintenance and repairs of phone lines in your area. I am calling to tell you that over the next hour one of our repair men will be conducting routine checks on you and your neighbor’s phone lines, which will result in you receiving occasional test rings. We, therefore, ask that you do not answer your phone as this could put our repairman at risk. Thank you.” Generally speaking the person on the other line would buy into it, and would be agreeable. So, after a couple of minutes we would call back, and the person on the other end would often pick up the phone to which we would respond by saying, “Thanks alot maam! you just knocked that crap out of our telephone man. Hope you have a great day.” And then we would abruptly hang up.

I thought your other readers would jump on this like a chicken on a June bug! (That’s a pastoral, euphemism of the Southern dialect meaning ‘extraordinarily rapidly,’ taken from observing how chickens devour June bugs. Apparently, they find them quite tasty – an entomological delicacy for avians!)

How about you try that sometime? Not the June bug, but the cold calling. I’ve considered eating bugs, grubs and worms. I think it’s called “Special Forces.” And, I’ve done cold calling.

Matter of fact, before the days of Caller ID (CID), we (my brother, friends and I) used to take particular, occasional delight in making prank phone calls. Such typical lines would include calling Kentucky Fried Chicken and asking if they have chicken breasts, thighs or legs, to which they would – of course – respond “yes, we do.” Immediately, we’d ask in retort, “Well, what kind of bra (or pantyhose) do you wear?” Then, we’d attempt to hold our delightful squeals to listen for a response.

Invariably, it’d seem women would answer the phone, which, of course, made it all the better!

I recollect one particular prank which I initiated by calling a remotely rural resident in our relatively rural area.

The homeowner (a male) answered, “Hello?”

I disguised my voice as well as a mid-teen could, and in a long, thick country-drawl said, “My cow’s in your garden.”

Not expecting the next response, I was caught off-guard when the man said, “I don’t have a garden.”

To which I could only respond after a brief pause, “Well… I don’t have a cow,” and proceeded to howl with gleeful delight.

Thank goodness, the homeowner took such silly shenanigans in stride, and didn’t curse us out, but played along with our silly reindeer games. He too, must’ve been a boy at one time!

Of course, there remain two unsolved problems from that era.

One, the refrigerator is still running. However, it remains stationary, apparently having decided to stay in the kitchen rather than run out the door.

And two, Prince Albert is still in a can, apparently still thriving, albeit with increased taxation.