better than the do-not-call registry
Mom has discovered an unforeseen benefit of the pressure on my father's frontal lobe.
He's very useful against telemarketers.
This morning, the symphony called, trying to unload season tickets that had been returned by subscribers. Dad took the call, and before the poor woman on the other end of the line knew what had hit her, he was telling her all about the Regina Carter concert we attended last week, and the jazz club Baker's where he used to see Carter perform, and what was on the menu at Baker's (mac and cheese, greens).
He's positively garrulous these days. And we are not saddled with tickets we won't use.
It's a good trick. Try it sometime! It's their dime, after all.