I once got a very long message from a very angry man. Not angry. Infuriated. Obviously too irate to realize he had not dialed his son’s phone #, and too focused on bitching out said son that he didn’t even listen to my outgoing message(I’m female, was eighteen then, and have always sounded about 10 years old over the phone). He ranted and raved for such a long time(about what, I never really figured out), that I feared he was on the verge of giving himself a stroke or something. I was afraid for the guy’s poor son, anyway, especially now that the man probably thought his kid was deliberately not calling back(probably smarter not to, anyway. yikes.)
I had just gotten my first cell phone and someone else probably had the number before me. I kept getting messages for someone who’s name I forget.
About a week later I found a message left by a woman who was very drunk looking for someone who obviously wasn’t me. She kept rambling on, complaining about how “that b*tch” had smoked all her cigarettes and that she needed someone to get her some more.
That message made the rounds to all my friends. Don’t know if she ever got those smokes or not, she never called me again.
"My mother leaves these long-ass messages on my machine. ‘boop Haiiiiiiii, i’ss Mommy, I have to tell you two sing. Numba one, Grandma and Grampa gonna die. I don’ know when they gonna die, but sometime, so I tell you so that when they die, you not surprised. But you don’ have to tell dem. Don’ say Mommy say you gonna die. Don’ say it like dat. Dass not nice. And dey know already. But I know you were going to come home to play a theater so I sink maybe dey die while you here so you don’ have do make two trip.
" ‘Number two: Did you get the shampoo I sent you? I send you the shampoo dass good for fine hair. And I send you de shampoo two weeks ago. But you did not call Mommy, so I sink you better go outside, because sometime when you not home, dey leave a yellow slip. But it will not say “shampoo from Mommy,” because dey don’ know what it is. But you know and I know dass it’s-a shampoo. So you just use a little bit, just a leeeeeeeeeeeeeeetle bit, and den you lethar, and rinse, but DON’ REPEAT. DON’ REPEAT. That’s WASTING! You did it one time! Don’t repeat! Only WHITE PEOPLE repeat. Don’ be like white people! Don’ repeat! – Don’ repeat!
" ’ To review: Number one, Gramma and Grampa gonna die; number two, did you get the shampoo I sent you? boop ’
“I save my mother’s messages because they’re worth saving.”
- Margaret Cho
Quite a ways back, I got a message from some guy in Virginia who started off by saying “This is a message for [my right name]” and then went on for about a minute about porn. Specifically, what he wanted to see. The part I remember best is “Anal is alright, as long as it’s not too red. That’s a turn-off. Skip it. Fake tits are great, but no scars.” Try explaining that to the housemates.
The guy called back later and I picked up. He asked for me by name, and when I said “speaking” then he said “Oh, I must have the wrong number. I’m trying to reach I guy I’m working with up in Vancouver.”
What kind of person looks up a common-as-dirt name in a public directory (hey! I was credited in this week’s Sopranos as “myself”, it’s that common – I also play a wicked bass…) and starts talking candidly and in great detail about porn? Oh, right-- a porn producer.
“Kitty? Kitty, this is Meatball. I know you got my red lighter, Kitty, and I want it back. You better gimmie my red lighter back, Kitty. You know how much that red lighter means ta me.”
I saved that message for weeks. Who on earth calls himself Meatball? Why was the red lighter so darn important? Did Kitty ever give it back? He also called once before this to whine about her breaking up with him and once after for her to meet him in a bar. I wonder–did she go? Was the invitation some last ditch effort to get Kitty back? Or did he just really want his lighter back? The world may never know.
I dunno but I met quite a few interesting people hanging out. Shayde, Dee, Petboy, Citrus, Tweak (or was it Twitch? Something that started with the tw sound I think)…
Here’s one from the other side of the phone:
Me: “Hi, it’s me, I’m leaving now - I had a little bit of a fashion crisis, hahaha, so I’ll see you in about 10 minutes, ok?”
My friend: “yeah, alright. bye.”
She sounded weird or pissed, so I called back to make sure she was okay:
Me: “Hi, did I just call you?”
My friend: “What do you mean?”
Me: “Just now, a few minutes ago - did I call you?”
My friend (laughing at me): “No!”
I also used to have a phone number that was one digit off from County Mental Health, so I was always getting phone calls from clearly confused (and sometimes upset) people saying, “Are you my Doctor? No? Do you know who my doctor is?” It was made especially confusing at first because I am some people’s doctor, just not these people’s doctor. I also really wanted to help them, but couldn’t…
I got a wrong fax once. Nothing very strange about that except that it just happened to be for another foreigner living in Tokyo (maybe they give us all similar numbers to make us easier to track?). It looked important (flight itinerary from a travel agency) so I called the agency back to let them know they made a mistake.
Good god, I think I nearly wet myself.
Well, I used to know a guy called Evil, but Meatball just struck me as odd. 
While living in graduate student housing, I had voicemail. Almost no one ever called me, so I got to the point that when I got home and checked for messages, I’d assume the messages were not for me. There were a couple of funny instances.
I got a number of voice mail messages in foreign languages, though I don’t think I ever got any wrong numbers when I was home in foreign languages.
But the funniest would be the day I had 7 messages. All 7 were from Papa John’s, who had arrived at the building with my pizza and wanted me to come pick up my pizza and pay for it. I hadn’t ordered a pizza, but if I’d been home, I’d have been seriously tempted by the 7th message to go down and pay for it and eat it. The 7 messages were left in a span of 15 minutes to a half hour.
I once received a message on my mobile which sounded to me like a group of evil druids chanting “and another one…and another one” over and over with cackling in the background.
It went on for about 5 minutes and there was no number left.
It haunted me for months
Reminds me of one message I got not too long ago.
“Yo, Shantiqua … where you at? Yo! This your boo! Shantiqua? C’mon, pick up the phone! I’m sorry, y’all. This y’all boo! Shantiqua, please, c’mon … I know y’all there … where you at?”
This one on for about a minute, until he was cut off by my voice mail system. Sure, the outgoing message was that of my very white male voice, but Boo still insisted on talking to Shantiqua.
Every couple of weeks, I’ll get a call from some elderly woman who doesn’t quite grasp the concept of answering machines.
“Eleanor? Hello … Eleanor? Eleanor?” (click)
“Ruth? Is that you, Ruth? Are you allright? Hello?” (click)
Yay, old people messages. We got a new phone system at the store I worked at and, after the phone rang for a while, it would kick it over to voicemail. Some people just don’t get voice mail. And some would get real upset.
Little Old Lady Voice: Hello? Hello?..I heard someone answer…Is this BigChainBookstore?..Do you have To Kill a Mockingbird?..Hello? Is anybody there?..I heard you pick up!..You’re not giving very good customer service!..Let me talk to your manager!..tape cuts off
I used to regularly get phone calls for someone else. After a number of phone calls, both on my machine and answering in person, I figured out her first name and phone number. It got to the point where I felt like I knew this woman. “Oh, you’re looking for HELEN! Sorry. You have the wrong number. You dialed 453-XXXX. Helen is 435-XXXX.”
One night I returned home to find a long message for Helen, with no return number for me to contact. It was about a friend of her who had just died of cancer, and contained numerous personal details. I felt bad that Helen missed out on the message, and phoned her myself to give her all of the details. Even though she was a stranger to me, we had a very nice conversation, and she was grateful that someone had taken the time to find her and give her the news. I explained how I knew who she was (all of the phone calls over the past few years), and how I’d been redirecting her calls for quite some time.
When my phone number changed, I kind of missed the calls for her. I wonder if her friends are still misdialing her number, but this time getting an “out of service” message.
I used to get phone calls from my friend’s purse. She had no keylock on her cellphone, so every now and then, her purse would call my house of its own accord, and I’d get a fifteen minute message that was usually her singing along to the radio and yelling at other drivers.
My all-time favorite, however, was my grandma’s outgoing message. We brought her into the 20th century by giving her an answering machine about ten years ago. The outgoing message went something like this …
“Eddie, honey, could you read me the instructions? Oh … how does this work? Eddie, get your glasses, don’t try to read it like that, you’ll never see anything. Now, Michael said to just press this button and BEEEEEEEEP”
It took her a while to figure out why every message she got was wheezing with laughter.
**Somewhere Out There **
I have a confession.
I’ve left one of these messages.
First, I was newly engaged and quite irritatingly dripping with gushy love for my husband.
Second, I was on vacation with a friend in San Antonio ( Dick’s Bar)
Thirdly, I was drunk. I have a tendancy to make Long Distance phone calls when I am mentally lubricated.
So, I am in the ladies john at Dick’s Bar and there is a telephone. I decide to call my fiance at work, because he usually works late to get stuff done at the office. I thought i would surprise him.
Instead, I get one of those new fangled things called Voice Mail. I tittered to my girlfriend who was in a stall.
Then I babbled on about God-Knows-What for the better part of twenty minutes and passed the phone around ( so to speak) to other drunk women in the john and my girlfriend, before I finally hung up with a mushy *I love you so much *.
Right after I hung up, I sighed as only a young girl in lurv can and my girl friend said, " I didn’t know that (insert company name mr. ujest works for) has voicemail."
I replied automatically, " They don’t."
And then we both burst out laughing.
I had dialled a wrong number.
What I would have given to listen in on the guy who got that voicemail on Monday. That would have been priceless.
Heee.
**Draelin ** I have tears of laughter running down my face at that one.
Thank you for sharing that. It has truly made my day.
That’s odd. I thought I was the only one in the world who got phone calls from his sister’s purse. Had several messages of my sister singing along with the radio as she drove.
Probably the oddest message I ever got was from the local police, though. They asked me if I had an Aunt Peg (not her real name).
I replied that I did, and asked why this was a matter of some concern.
I was worried. My late Aunt Peg was around eighty at the time, and… well… she wasn’t crazy or senile or dangerous or anything… but she was quite *fearless, * if you know what I mean. She was the kind of nutty old lady who’d totter into a biker bar five miles outside the city limits, order a Vodka Collins at the bar, and try and chat up the regulars to see what the appeal was in the biker lifestyle, you understand?
Hell of it was, she’d likely escape completely unharmed. Actually, she’d likely get a lift home from the bikers, as well as a few souvenirs, possibly a tattoo, and at least one lifelong friend she’d correspond with forever after.
…and she lived in Fort Worth, many miles from my home. So when the local cops called up and asked me about her, I was quite naturally concerned.
It seems my new phone number was only two digits off from the local hoosegow. Aunt Peg had called me up, and transposed two digits, and wound up talking to the day officer at the jail.
Now… those of you who know me, probably have some idea of what comes next. The officer tried explaining to her that she had contacted a law enforcement center. Aunt Peg, knowing me, wasn’t having any of it, and thought it was wonderfully funny that I was trying to have her on, and proceeded to tell this cop whatever it was she’d intended to tell me.
After trying to convince this dotty old lady of the truth for ten minutes, the officer finally gave up and began recording the call. Afterwards, he’d run a search on my name, found out my number and address, and called me.
He informed me that my Aunt Peg was fine, Cousin Frank and Little Bitsy had had their baby, they’d had SNOW last week in Dallas, and that Aunt Peg’d be down to see Grandma for Christmas, expect her on December 12 or so, and to tell the folks hi… and would I be so kind as to call her back and tell her that she had the wrong phone number?
:smack:
If this were my mother…
I’d change my phone number.
My first name is very similar to that of a good friend of mine. (It also helps that we are of approximately the same height/build/colouring.) We are regularly called by each other’s name, so often that we generally respond to either.
Once I got a message that was from her (let’s call her, say, Bowgirl)
“Hello Bowgirl, it’s Cowgirl, blahblahblah …” - she didn’t notice the mistake until I pointed it out to her, and saved the message to show all our friends.
Then, several weeks later, I got the following message from her:
“Hello Bowgirl, it’s Cowgirl … oh no, I’ve done it again … <uproarious laughter> … <click>” - she was laughing too hard to leave the message and had to hang up and call again later.
That one I saved for even longer.
Another time, I had a roommate who was a lawyer. One of her clients had been receiving death threats on her answering machine, and so (as these messages would be evidence in the case) the roomie decided to make some copies to leave on our machine.
Problem was, when she tried to forward the messages from the one phone to the other, the ‘introductory’ part of the message, where you’re supposed to say ‘Hey cowgirl, I’m just leaving these messages on here for work, please disregard’ somehow didn’t get recorded.
So all I heard were a series of fairly terrifying death threats from a strange man I had never met. It was all very funny.