New York became more and more commercial, and, in Violetta’s opinion, less and less real, the longer Violetta stayed. Not that she ever would have moved- New York was her city- but it made her sad, the slow death of her city.
Part of that death was the telemarketers. They called constantly- always selling something, or promoting something, or taking a poll, or something– and Violetta hated it. She hated it. Hated. It. She hated it so much, she planned how to get to rid of them.
Violetta called do-not-call registries. She hung up on the messages. She screamed at representatives and threatened violence if they called again. She prayed special intentions of the Rosary, hoping for the help of God. She thought about ripping the phone cord out of the wall, but discarded it. Too many important people called. Finally, Violetta left the phone off the hook. Sure, she had to arrange all her calls now, but at least there were no more pesky telemarketers!