This beats the phone guy who tried to offer me phone hynosis to help me remember my pin number.
I’ve just flirted like mad with an Indian man named Clifford.
Every time I call a bank, pension company, the pizza place - it’s these security questions. They start you out slow to lure you into a false sense of security, and then the real questions start.
Can you please tell us every third digit of your home address?
What is your mother’s blood type?
Okay, Ms Existere. If you add all the digits of your policy together and divide by 36, is the answer -13?
It gets so I get sweaty before even calling these places. And I always need TMD near so I can whisper questions to her. I am sure I’ve made many a call centre suspicious that I was holding the real Existere hostage and demanding she answer my questions.
My new action plan is to be more charming than anyone could ever suspect. Poor old Clifford probably gets screamed at all day by unhappy customers, so I give him a little liquid sex. When he says he has security questions, I laugh and say, ‘I hope I can answer them.’ The next thing I know, Clifford is pouring wine and clinking his glass against the phone, the crackle of flames in the background. Clifford tells me he hopes I can answer them too, his voice dropping into a teasing and intimate tone.
We proceeded into a kinky little security striptease - and I must say, there was no need to break out the flirting. One of you could probably call this number and convince Clifford you were me - if you were willing to have fake phone sex, anyway.
May 15, 2008 at 4:15 pm
I love this combination of tags - pension and phone sex. It’s like the ‘cellar door’ equivalent.