I don’t want to toot my own horn — that’s because I can’t play the tuba and tooting is rude, especially at the dinner table — but I have come up with a brilliant way to get rid of all those irritating scammers who call me every day, at all hours, especially when I am at the dinner table.

I bought an air horn and successfully used it on a real estate agent who called to ask, not for the first time, if I wanted to sell my house.

Her ears, if not her phone, must still be ringing.

I was moved to desperation after getting approximately 11,248 calls in the span of a week and a half, not only from real estate agents, but from relentless idiots trying to pass themselves off as bankers (“Your loan has been approved”), auto insurance reps (“We are calling about your car’s extended warranty”), even IRS agents (“Pay now or face the consequences”), most of whom speak a language that is not English and seem to be calling from: (a) their basement, (b) Tibet or (c) another planet.

I tried everything to fend off these hateful scammers.

One morning, the house phone rang. When I picked up, a telemarketer said, “Is Mrs. Zezima there?”

“No, she isn’t,” I answered.

“Are you Mr. Zezima?” he inquired.

“No,” I replied. “I’m a burglar. Make it fast. I have to get out of this house before the cops get here.”

He hung up and never called again.

I pulled the same kind of stunt recently when my mother was in the hospital. The phone in her room rang. It was, I swear to God, someone who wanted to sell her health insurance.

“This is Dr. Zezima,” I said. “I’m about to perform brain surgery, but I have an opening this afternoon, so I can operate on you, too. Do you have health insurance?”

The woman hung up.

A little while later, my mother’s room phone rang again. This time it was a man who wanted to sell her health insurance.

“I’m Sgt. Zezima of the police department,” I informed him. “We are tracing this call.”

The guy hung up.

My mother was vastly amused because laughter is, of course, the best medicine. And the cheapest. She is now out of the hospital and doing well.

My wife, Sue, and I routinely get calls from scammers who keep calling if we don’t pick up and won’t shut up if we do.

Some are downright nasty.

Two can play at this game, I figured, so I came up with what I thought was a stroke of genius: I would buy an air horn and use it on the next scammer.

“This is one of the dumbest ideas you have ever had,” Sue told me.

Undeterred, I went online and spent a grand total of $7.99 for an air horn. It arrived a couple of days later.

“Powerful sound blast,” it said on the package. “Alert for safety and distress. Meets U.S. Coast Guard requirements for boats up to 65 feet.”

I tested it out in the kitchen. Sue practically ricocheted off the ceiling.

“You almost blew my eardrums out!” she cried.

To which I replied, “What?”

The next day, the house phone rang. I picked up. A woman whose voice sounded familiar asked if I wanted to sell my house.

“Stop calling!” I demanded.

She kept talking.

So I put my air horn next to the phone and let loose.

I imagined the wax shooting like molten lava out of her ear.

“Are you there?” I asked.

No answer. She had hung up.

It worked!

“I guess it wasn’t such a dumb idea after all,” Sue admitted.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Now I have good reason to toot my own horn.”

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