Well, the phone is finally fixed, after still more calling and screaming and consigning AT & T to the deepest level of hell.
About 10, "Dave" called to say he was on the grounds and would fix it. I gave him an earful, too, and asked for his supervisor's name (Phil) and number. I made clear I knew it wasn't Dave's or Phil's fault, but I wanted to get to the bottom of it. I finished and fired off a three-page letter to the evil entity itself--they hide out in St. Louis, Missouri--detailing my travail.
While I was waiting the interminably long time between calls and the repair, I went through a slew--several thousand and that's not an exaggeration--of snapshots and chose some to put in the large frame I bought with multiple openings. Now I'll have to pare down what I chose; I want to have at least one picture each of all members of my family Pat and me, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. As for my birth family, not to mention the ancestors, I'll have to think of something else.
Went to the P.O. to mail the complaint letter, then stopped at Goodwill. They were having one of their periodic 50 percent off sales from 5:00 to 9:00, but it was only a bit after 4:00, so I didn't bother to stay.
I was so glad and relieved to have the phone back and considered myself such a holy martyr for what I endured, that I stopped and bought myself a half-gallon of Bryers's Snickers ice cream. No, I know I shouldn't have and I'll eat too much of it--I skip a bowl and eat it directly from the carton. I know, I know, that's stupid and even disgusting, but I deserve a treat and it's better than six martinis, isn't it? (I'm in a silly mood.)
Note: It occurred to me that it was not Thomas Edison, his was the light bulb, so I should have cited Alexander Graham Bell for the phone. My mistake, but I'm not going to bother to correct my previous entry.