The letter says that they need one of us to take a survey, and they have to keep coming back and coming back till they've made contact with us. Enclosed is a business card, and we have to call the number on the card and tell them when someone is available to be interviewed. Why the hell they can't do it over the phone, I don't know. The name on the card is a woman my mom knows (and of whom she holds a low opinion, apparently).
Anyway, being a good little citizen, I tried to call the number. A woman answered, sounding drunk off her ASS.
Drunk or Stoned: Hullooooooooooooo? *sounded also like I'd awakened her or something*
Me: ...Hi. Is this Survey Lady's office?
Me: O_o Okay. Thanks. Must have the wrong number. Thanks!
Me: *hangs up* Okay, that lady was drunk or stoned or had paste in her mouth or something.
Mom: Knowing Survey Lady, probably all three. Yeah, see? 4 in the afternoon. Definitely drunk, at least.
We look up the number in the phone book, and see that while it's not Survey Lady's office, it is her HOME number. Wouldn't you think that DoS would have informed me of that? Or am I being naive?
Anyway, I called the number again and this time just asked to speak to Survey Lady.
DoS: She ain't here right now.
Me: Do you know when she'll be back?
Me: ...Okay. Thanks. *hangs up* WHY THE FUCK TO PEOPLE HAVE TO BE WEIRD? If you want me to CALL you, STOP BEING FUCKING WEIRD.
Mom: *proceeds to tell me a long involved story about how Survey Lady's father was someone respectable, and Survey Lady herself used to be a beautiful girl, and then her mother ran off with some guy and broke up his marriage, and his wife talked about that little whore breaking up a marriage and then SHE went and had an affair with some OTHER guy and broke up HIS marriage...then that circled back to Survey Lady and how she's now an anorexic with bad teeth and many children and "if any of them are old enough, they're sure to be fucking. Sorry dear."*
Me: What the hell is wrong with the people in this town?