Way To Go, Idaho.
Setting: The Icicle Fief Kitchen, 4:30 pm today.
Cell phone rings. "Restricted number."
Them: "Hi, this is so and so calling from Air Miles, I was wondering-"
Me: in full Ice Queen mode "I don't appreciate you calling me on my cell."
Them: "Sorry, but you put this as your preferred number."
Preferred number? What the--?
Me: "Oh, God, I thought you were a telemarketer."
Them: "Just calling about the communications position you applied for."
So I have a phone interview tomorrow.
Hey, I couldn't possibly screw up any more, could I? Could I?