Odds are it's all a numbers game

George Orwell warned us. Some day we'd just be a number. Even concocted a four-digit title for what in 1948 was a futuristic look at a totalitarian society -- "1984."

And here we are more than 30 years later than our once-and-future future. What are the odds?

Nowadays just try making a purchase without giving up your phone number or zip code.

You don't have to be 007 or Agent 99 to figure it out. We have a numbers crunch going on.

Birthdate? Last four of your Social Security Number? Area code? Cell number?

Everybody wants your number.

House number? Credit score? Landline number?

DOB? BAC? SAT? ACT? Even IQ ...

Draft number? It was 42 skidoo.

Blood pressure? It was 130/80 the other day for those of you keeping score at home.

Age may be just a number but you can't tell the players without a scorecard to provide their jersey number.

Heck, remember when "Seinfeld" foil George Costanza wanted to name his first child Seven in honor of Mickey Mantle? Goofy as he was, George was ahead of his time. A number-naming festivus for the rest of us.

Sure, numbers should come naturally for me. I was born on a Friday the 13th (July, thank you very much).

But the other day I decided to unencumber myself by at least one number.

Called Comcast and waged war on my triple-bundle cable package that rolled my Internet service, cable TV and home phone into one convenient but ever-increasing bill.

Sadly it meant letting go of 653-5866 -- often shortened to 5866 in the days when 653 was our only prefix in Greencastle.

So after more than 30 years of reciting that as my home number for every contact and concern, I kissed it goodbye. Deep-sixed it. Or in journalistic terms, gave it a -30- (that means the end).

Scammers and pollsters and telemarketers were the other ones using it anymore anyway. While Mom was still alive I hestitated to shed myself of the home phone because I knew that'd be the number she would call whether just to chat or in an emergency. But now there's little point. Everyone uses their cellphone for everything.

Getting rid of that house phone, along with Starz and Cinemax saved me about 50 bucks a month. I was on Cloud 9.

Until I went to CVS to pick up a prescription Dr. Scamahorn phoned in for my dog Chopper.

The pharmacy clerk couldn't find his pills. I'm biting my tongue, thinking they're going to need the last four of his Social, right? Or maybe his phone number. Ha!

After looking in all the bins, behind the divider and under the counter, she finally found my little Westie's prescription.

Turns out he's Chopper Bernsee in the pharmaceutical world.

Laughing, I decided not to waste a good joke.

"Good thing you didn't need his date of birth," I offered.

"Oh, no," came the mundane response. "We already have that.

"It's 10-24-07."

Geez, I don't know, maybe my number's up.