Kinky La Rue

Concerning withheld numbers/phone boxes and that all too important element in this illustrious job of mine, discretion.

Do you remember the saga I wrote previously, about the guy that did a runner when he got to the flat. He’d made the booking by public telephone, which I didn’t cotton onto at the time. If I had known I would’ve saved myself a whole heap of trouble that day.

This past Tuesday I (eventually) had a booking with an Irish gentleman who was visiting London and was only in town for one more day. He called from a payphone, which I did suss immediately. The everyday background hustle and bustle gave it away. I asked him if he was indeed calling from a call box and he said yes. I apologised and said I was unable to take his booking and I briefly explained why. I asked if he had a mobile he could call me from. He swore up and down that he didn’t have his phone with him, that he’d left it back home in Ireland. He (and this is no lie to engorge my ego in any way) begged and pleaded for me to see him; said that he’d seen my site a couple of years ago and had been looking at my arse ever since, etc. My resolve almost melted but the afore-mentioned runaround I got from the last person who called from a call box was, I’m afraid, still uppermost in my mind.

I apologised and said I couldn’t, much as I’d love to. That was the end of it. Or so I thought.

Five minutes later the same gentleman calls from, guess what? His mobile phone. Says yes, he does have it, but didn’t want to use it. He said my arse was too tempting to pass up. We had a chuckle, I called him a little fibber, and I was happy enough to proceed with the booking.

The appointment went well and the gent said, “I hope you’re not going to text me when I get home tomorrow.” Perplexed I said, “Why would I?” I told him how long I’d been in this job and I don’t think I’d still be working if I was in the habit of texting/calling customers out of the blue.

Then on Wednesday, I received a serious of calls from a withheld number. I’m assuming it’s the same person who called me seven times in an hour. It may be because said person didn’t want to show his number, may’ve been a bit nervous, which I totally understand, but surely that’s what email’s for. Did this person think that by ringing me so doggedly the 2nd, 3rd or 4th time, let alone the 7th, that I might give  in and answer? Listen chap, it doesn’t endear you to me. It just makes you look a little obsessive and not the sort of person I’d want to meet anyway. Grrr!

Filed under: Ruminations by Kinky