I don't know who you are, but tell your friends your new phone number!

You know, as I follow this thread, the memories just drift to the surface of my cerebral cortex…

Before God let me know in no uncertain terms that He wanted me to be Catholic, I worked as a tarot card reader on a psychic hotline. I worked from home, basically I would dial up and log into a remote computer that routed calls to the “live psychics” home phones.

Anyhoo, one evening I was logged in, my phone rang and I answered it…

Me: Psychic Hot Line, this is Loretto, how may I help you?
Older Female Voice I Didn’t Recognize: Hi, I was just talking to your dad, and he said…
Me: Excuse me, this is a business phone. Who are you trying to reach?

Silence on the other end, followed by, “Oh, I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number.”

Well, yeah, when I answered the phone by saying “Psychic Hot Line, this is Loretto”, you’d think that would have clued her in that she had gotten Loretto at the Psychic Hot Line, and not whoever the hell she thought she was trying to call.

Memories are resurfacing here too. I remember when I was younger we had problems with the occasional wrong number. The problem was there were two almost identical names in the phone book, one of which was my father’s. For the record, let’s say that there was one guy named Joe I. Blow*. My father’s name would be Joh I. Blow. Same name, same address listed (It’s a rural community, so the address would be just Barrington or Clark’s Harbour, no street numbers), even the same middle initial. The only difference is the spelling of the first name. So occasionally we’d get a phone call for Joe, and Joe would get a call for my dad.

We also occassionally got mail that was meant for the other guy, as our address were also very similar. This hasn’t happened much since the other guy died, though.

*Yeah, have all the sick thoughts you want, I don’t care.

So, you just opened the door one day and there was God and he said, "Thea, I want you to be a Catholic?

Miss Cleo, is that you?

I’m just ribbin’ ya, Thea, don’t take offense.

Six months? Try eight years. That’s how long I’ll have been at my current address (as of August), and every day there’s still crap bearing the name of the previous residents. And not just junk, either: We will occasionally get an express mail envelope from some bank where the word “mortgage” can just barely be read through the cover paper on the second sheet. And yes, we’ve sent them back, repeatedly. A few weeks ago, I even got a freakin’ jury summons with the guy’s name on it. I mean, damn, what kind of a screwup leaves an address with so many loose ends?

After I had enough with the Filipinos and people looking for my namesake, I recorded a very detailed message on my machine. I came home from work one day and found a message by some guy who thought my machine was for a dentist. I wonder if the poor guy ever got his teeth.

Another time I came home from work and found a subpoena on my door! I assume it was for a previous resident. I had been in that apartment for about four years and it stood vacant for a couple of years before that.

Oh, dear lord, no. Say it ain’t so. It’s bugging me already - I can’t imagine still getting this crappy mail eight years from now. On the plus side, I’ve never stayed at any place longer than two years, so it shouldn’t be an issue in a year and a half.

SylverOne I’m surprised no one called & said

“Super8 Motel?!? Now thats one Hell of a Physical Therapy. And Medicare pays for that…? Does his wife Noreen know?”

My fiancee gets misplaced calls to her cell phone (as do I) all the time, but recently, we’ve been getting the following exchange with several callers:

caller: Hello?
Jurphette: Hello?
caller: Hi, is X there?
Jurphette: No, there’s no X here.
caller: Is this 123-4567?
Jurphette: Oh, no, this is 123-4576.
caller: Okay. That’s weird as hell. I dialled 4567, and the display on this phone (presumably also a cell) says four-five-six-seven. I’m really sorry.
Jurphette: That’s all right. Goodnight.

click
RING
caller: Hello?
Jurphette: Hi, it’s me again.
caller: I am so sorry. If I can’t get them by dialling their number, whose number do I have to dial? What am I going to do?
Jurphette: I don’t know. Good luck, goodnight!

click
RING

caller: Hello?
Jurphette: Nope.
caller: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

click

I can only assume that our nearest local cell tower is infested with gremlins or SDMB hamsters.

I got one ther other night on my cell phone.

“Hello?”
“Who’s this?”
“Who are you calling?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Look, I think you have the wrong number. What number are you dialing?”
“Who is this??”
“My name is Robin. Who is this?
“Never mind, you fucking bitch.”

And she hangs up. Jeez!

Another time, a lady calls very early on a Saturday morning and wakes me up. She asked for so-and-so, and I told her she had the wrong number. She apologized and hung up, and of course immediately calls right back. I then ask what number she is dialing, and she has my number. So she says, “I guess you’re not the woman I’m supposed to meet for tennis this morning?” I said, “I’m sorry, no. Good luck finding her!” It’s so much nicer when everyone is polite, you know?

A long time ago, I had the same number that was printed in the phone book for a mortgage company. I finally just found the right number, and gave it to the wrong number callers!

This thread calls up to memory the opening scene of Amazon Women on the Moon with Arsenio Hall…

Long ago, I once worked for a small company that was given the same number as the local Fly-By-Night Cable Service. Now Fly By Night was still in business, but Our number was printed at the bottom of the older cable boxes. So whenever cable went out, we’d get calls.

Now during the day, this was fine. But at night it was just myself (doing my paperwork) and my sadistic co-worker(SC). Now, SC loved these calls and asked to take all of them. And he would toy Mercilessly with the people on the other end.
Example (sweet grandmotherly type caller)
“Hello, is this FBN Cable?”
SC-“Yes…how can I help you?”

“My cable is out and I want you to fix it.”
SC-“OK…let me bring this up…whats your name…whats your address…?”
(caller gives out the information)
SC-“Hmmm…I can’t find you…what’s the serial number on the bottom of the cable box?”
(woman reads off the number)

SC-“Wait one second…this box is Red Flagged!”
“What the hell do you mean, Red Flagged?! I pay my bill Every Month!”

SC-“No…you don’t understand. We show this box was stolen off the back of a cable repair truck in Linden, NJ. Where did you get that Box?!”
“I got it when they installed the cable.”

SC-“When Who installed the cable? M’am, do you have an Illegal Hook-Up?”
(By Now, that sweet grandmother is cursing like a sailor in handcuffs)
“I don’t have any F-ing illegal hook-up. You F-ing people installed it. Its you’re F-ing cable that’s out! How dare you F-ing Idiots call me a F-ing Thief!!!”

And…when he had her good & riled, like a hornets nest poked with a stick, then came the Closer.

“Fine, lady, whatever you say. We’ve got your name and your address and we’ll be sending a truck out to pick up that box!!! Have A Nice Night!!!” <hangs up>


Now SC had people running down their streets on rainy nights (“We have a truck just down the street from you. Maybe your husband could run down & flag it down before it goes to its next call? Otherwise, you’ll have to wait til Monday.”).

He had people fooling with tools. (“OK, now I’m going to walk you through it. Get a screwdriver & open up the back of the box. No, don’t unplug it…how are you going to see what’s wrong if you unplug it? Now you see that circuitboard? Stick the flat part of the screwdriver between it and the wires next to it. Tell me if the cable works now…”) If there was sparking or smoke, he’d give them the new phone number of FBN cable company and tell them to call there asking for “Level 2 Support”.

One night, he put the caller on hold and bragged to me he had her husband up on the telephone pole jiggling the cable wires!!!

He was an Evil Child, that SC. I once asked his fiance how she could send him to work with him acting that way. She replied,“Well, its cheaper than Daycare.”

When I was in college in Austin, I worked for a chemistry professor. His office phone number was the same as a medical clinic in San Antonio, but with a different Area code. I was always helpful to those who called our number in error. One day I answered the phone: “Dr. X’s office”, and a male caller informed me that he wanted to make an appointment for his wife to have a breast exam. Yes, I explained his error to him, but I will always regret that I did not simply transfer the call to Dr.X, because I know he would have enjoyed it.

I got home just last night to 7 or 8 increasingly irate messages from “Dad,” who was apparently traveling in our fair city for the first time, and was planning on his daughter (whose name bears no resemblance to mine) being able to direct him. Our outgoing machine spells out who we are pretty clearly, so you’d think at some point he would have caught on, but… We thought about trying to call and see if we could be of any help, but the caller ID just had “unknown name/unknown number,” so hopefully he found his way or found the daughter!

I remember once a long time ago we had the same number, except with a different area code, as a Pug breeder in the next state. We got some interesting calls for that one - I remember one really rambling message from a guy who practically left his life story on the machine, and when it cut him off, he called right back and picked up where he left off. What any of it had to do with him wanting a Pug I still have no idea.

Man, ain’t no fucking Thelma here!

(You know, I have a theory about that scene. My thought is that when Arsenio was away, someone boobytrapped his apartment in an effort to kill him. They keep calling back to see if he’s dead yet.)

My name is pretty common, and I’ve received a few calls looking for other people with my name.

I used to be in physics, and when I was in first year I got a call from this guy who said he ran an engineering firm, he’d read about my laurels in some engineering magazine, and he wanted me to design a low down-force tractor for farming on marshes.

The funny thing was that he didn’t believe me when I told him I wasn’t qualified for the job and he had the wrong person! He really really wanted me to design that tractor!

Friends of mine in college kept getting calls for the Rodrigues family. Despite lengthy explanations on the answering machine that this wasn’t the Rodrigues’ hosehold, and they can’t be reached at this number , they kept getting messages for them on their answering machine.

Over time, they changed their message in various ways:

“The Rodrigues family isn’t available. We’ve locked them in a closet.”

“The Rodrigues family isn’t available. They’re in jail for cannibalism, and Juan isn’t alive anymore.”

“The Rodrigues family obviously hates you, otherwise they would have given you their correct number.”

They finally got a call from the Rodrigues family, asking them to stop.

–Patch Bunny

Just thought of a related issue I had at work. Most technicians worked in outlying offices, rarely visiting the central office. We all had our own phone and message systems at our individual sites. All the technicians were on call nights & weekends on a rotating basis. My employer provided pagers for everyone, but they rarely went off if you weren’t on call.

For over a year, I kept getting this weird 4-digit number on my pager: 2323. It wasn’t an extension anywhere at my site, so I assumed it was a wrong number. I must have got 20 of these messages before I happened to be with another technician one day. His pager went off, he announced that he’d got the message 2325, then called the office to check his voicemail.

Turns out that there was a voicemail system at the central office, and everyone had a voicemail mailbox there. If you got a message, your pager notified you with your mailbox number. Nobody had told me any of this, so I had a years worth of messages of various urgency to deal with.

Ah, this might not be the former resisdents fault; mail-forwarding is only good for a year.

In that year, all your contacts are supposed to up-date their records with your new address. So I wonder about a mortgage that is using the wrong address after eight years.

As for the children’s schools, that makes perfect sense to me; when one moves, one often changes school districts. Why give the old district your new phone number?

And I apologize to all students; every-one I know has caller ID and voice mail and email.

Two stories

Growing up our home number ended in 9119, while the police emergency number was 9191. We got a few frantic calls late at night from that one.

In college I lived off campus in a house that for a variety of reasons was called “Sgt Rock”, after the comic book. We had the same number as the campus police, but with the town exchange, not the college exchange. We always answered the phone with “Sgt Rock” and the callers just assumed it was the police and started into their stories.

At times, some of my housemates would head out on their bikes with drills, hammers, and other implements of destruction when we’d get a lock-out call. They actually opened some doors that way. We’d listen to long involved stories and finally say “That sounds awful, perhaps you should call the campus police?” But no one wanted to change the number, it was a part of living there.

Once we had to do something with the campus po and had to give our phone number. The guy behind the desk looked at us and said “So you’re the people we keep getting calls for!”

When the wife and I moved into our new house we had to get a new phone number. Every few days we would get a call or two from some old lady who seemed to be able to always misdial the phone the same way since we would get a couple of call one right after the other. We would tell her it was the wrong number and she would try again.

After a couple of weeks I picked up the phone for the 3rd or 4th time and it was her again. So I told her to either put on her glasses or get the big button phone so she could see when she dialed and I hung up on her. A couple of seconds later she calls back and bitches at me for being rude. So I hung up on her again. She called back a couple more times to bitch at me but just hung up right away.