The silence that followed was the sweetest sound he’d heard all year. He went back to his crossword, finished 14-Across ( "A state of quiet or tranquility" ), and wrote in the word: .
He drove to the local , wandering past the glowing aisles of curved TVs and high-end gaming laptops until he found the telecommunications section. There, tucked between cordless handsets, was a small, unassuming black box: a CPR Call Blocker .
It reached a breaking point on a Tuesday when a "representative from the Social Security office" called for the fourth time, claiming Arthur’s benefits were being suspended due to suspicious activity in a state he’d never visited. Arthur hung up, but his hand was shaking. "Enough," he muttered.
Arthur bought it. He went home and plugged it into his landline, feeling like he was setting a trap.
Arthur wasn't exactly a tech-wizard, but he was a man who valued his peace. At seventy-two, his afternoon ritual—a cup of Earl Grey and the crossword—was sacred. Lately, however, that peace was being shattered every twelve minutes by a chorus of "Potential Spam" and "Unknown Caller."
The first call came twenty minutes later. The caller ID read No Caller ID . Arthur didn’t even pick up. He watched the little screen. The device hummed for a second, identified the lack of credentials, and— click —the line went dead before the second ring could even finish. Arthur smiled.