Tuesday, May 02, 2006

One ringy-dingy...

I got a call this morning from, according to my caller ID, Mr. Restricted Number.  Here’s roughly how it went:

ME: Hello? (then I coughed because I was eating oatmeal.  Don’t ever eat oatmeal and answer the phone.  They don’t mix.)
RN: Hi Mike.  I was wondering if you could cut down some tree limbs for me today.  
ME: Ah, maybe.  Who is this now?
RN: Frank Zappa*. We spoke last week about getting to a few trees on my property.
ME: There it is.  I think you’ve got the wrong number.  
RN:  Really?  This isn’t Mike Marion? The City of Buffalo Guy In Charge of Cutting Down Tree Limbs**?
ME: Nope, just plain ol’ Mike.  I don’t even have a chain saw.
RN: This isn’t 848-9375***?
ME: Ha.  Nope, it’s 613-2290***.  Good luck with your trees though.
RN: Sorry about that.  (hangs up.)

Then, in scene two, after I told Lisa about how the guy didn’t even get the number remotely right:

LISA: Ha!  Maybe his cat dialed for him?
ME: Hee-hee!  Maybe his phone was upside-down without him knowing?
LISA: Maybe his preferred dialing method is by simply throwing jelly beans at the keypad and hoping for the best?
ME: Maybe someone bumped his chair seven times?
LISA:  Haha!  Good thing we’re so perfect.
ME:  Agreed.  More oatmeal?

* Name changed to protect the identity of the caller.  Also, I don’t remember it.  
** I also don’t remember the title he rattled off.  This was essentially it.  Note that he got my first name right, though.  Confusion abounds!
*** Number changed to protect me.  Suffice it to say he wasn’t even close.


ThursdayJava said...

I don't get it. Did you cut down his trees or what? *cough*

Garvey said...

Are you suggesting this was a booty call? Dammit, I always get them mized up with wrong numbers.