Most bizarre wrong/crank number message

Ok, so someone calls our place at 1:00 AM; naturally we let the machine pick it up and don’t want to deal with it-- can’t even recognize the voice from upstairs. “Who the HELL?!” we are thinking.
I listen to the message this morning. It goes something like this:

“Hi, it’s me, Dan from Miami Studios. . . I hope you girls are up for a porn thing, because we’re trying to get some ass shots. . . we’re just going to try to rip as many butts as possible here soon, like this weekend. Anyway, give me a call, xxx-xxxx. Bye.”

WHAT?! I had to listen 3 times before I believed what I was hearing. Odd.

OMG. I am cracking the hell up. You HAVE to call back. Don’t you want your butt ripped?

Dare I ask, can you make an MP3 of it, just “for the record”? :smiley:

I know what this guy is thinking: :smack:

That’s freakin’ awesome! I am so going to call someone tonight and leave that same message!

Why didn’t I think of that one?!:smack:

Well, nothing quite so shocking as capybara’s experience, but recently, I’ve been plagued by late night calls from rather worried-sounding men asking for ‘Mistress Sarah’ to ‘teach them how to be a maid.’ :o :eek:

One night, my husband and I were awakened at three in the morning by the following message:

“Your f*ckin’ cow is in my garden again! Come get it NOW or I’m gonna shoot it. <CLICK!>”

We didn’t have time to scramble out of the waterbed and grab the phone. The irate caller left no number. We have never owned a cow, and we had no neighbors nearby with gardens of any kind. We had no clue who it was.

At the time, we were living in a town with a population of 263. We never heard anything about anybody having a cow get shot, so we assume that it ambled away on its own. At least we hope it did.


WAAHAAHAA! That’s awesome.

I had the following dense person exchange on the phone when I worked at a bookstore:

“Atticus Books.”

“Hi, do you deal with beavers?”

“Well, we have lots of books about animals. There might be some about beavers.”

“Do you travel out to people’s homes?”

“Um, no…people come into the store to buy books.”


“Yes, we sell books. We’re a bookstore.”

“You mean you don’t trap beavers?”

“No, we’re a bookstore.”

“Oh! Okay. Bye”


I guess this qualifies more as strange coincidence rather than bizarre. I was visiting my Mom and ended up watching my youngest brother while she ran some errands. The phone rang and after saying “Hello” I hear an older female ask if it’s me.



“It’s Grandma”

I rarely talk to my maternal Grandmother so figure it’s her.

“Hi Grandma, how are you?”

“Is your Mom there? Is this really Heather?”

“No sorry, she’ll be back within a half hour, is everything okay? Yes, this is really Heather. Do you want Mom to call you when she comes back?”

At any rate, I was getting pretty worried about Grandma by this point, but she decided to make small talk so I followed suit. Asked her how Grandpa was doing, weather, have you been staying busy, etc. I think we talked for 15 minutes or so before she finally asked me how old I was. Turns out I was the wrong Heather by several years. I think I was 27 at the time, and her Granddaughter was 11? No wonder she sounded so upset. :smiley:

Funny stories all.

Mostly we just get messages from people in Thai,Vietnamese or Russian despite having an answering machine message that identifies us – in English.

Back when I was in high school, I was a lot more sarcastic and cruel than I am now. I’d frequently mess with people just to screw up their day. I’m not proud, but it has given me a couple of interesting stories.

Like the time I got a call on my upstairs line (the parents had a separate number) asking for “Diane.” There’s no Diane; it’s a wrong number. Rather than say that, though, I said, “Sorry, Diane’s in the hospital.”

“Oh my God!” sez the woman on the line. “Is she okay?”

I make up a tale about a car accident or something. Critical condition, may not live the week, typically stupid overdramatic high-school stuff. The caller’s buying every word; no reason to question it.

Then she says: “Does Nora know?”

Me: “Nora?”

Woman: “Nora Quince.”

I’ve fictionalized the name, so the above isn’t what she said, but I’m shocked to realize that I know the person being referred to.

In the silence, the woman says: “Diane’s in a show Nora’s directing. I was calling to see what she’s doing after rehearsal tonight.”

I’m thinking fast: I know Nora. She’s a local childrens-theatre impresario. Everybody hates her, except all the stage mothers who buy Nora’s bullshit stories about how the shows Nora directs will be the gateway to stardom for their kids. Nora even went so far one time as to try to mount an unauthorized production of Cats (but featuring kids, so it was renamed Kittens – where’s the barf smiley?), until she got caught in the planning stage and chastised by the rights people.

“I don’t know if Nora knows,” I say, now blushing furiously and trying to figure out how to get off the phone. I’m now also figuring out that I know who Diane is as well; she’s the younger sister of somebody in my high-school class.

“Do you know what hospital?”


I clam up, and the woman quickly decides to hang up and continue her investigation elsewhere. I felt like such a shit, I’ve never done anything like that since. Well, not to a wrong number, anyway…

You didn’t get to hear the punchline. This is an old one I pulled as a kid. Generally, most folks will reply that they do not have a garden. I would then reply, geez, I don’t have a cow either.

You might have flip-flopped something in the script, there, racer.

I’ve had a few memorable weird calls. Once I had an ad in a local freebie classifieds rag for a drum kit I was trying to sell:

Female Caller: You’ve got some drums for sale?

Me: Yeah, it’s a 3-piece kit; bass, wing-tom and floor-tom, but no snare drum.

Female Caller: I don’t know much about drums - what’s a snare drum?

Me: It’s the one that rattles a bit when you hit it.

Female Caller: So then, you’re a drummer?

Me: Er…, yes?

Female Caller: Well, so, uh, how tall are you?

It devolved into a tale of her being one of a group of horny stewardesses stuck in this city for the weekend, looking for some stallions. She wanted me to meet her behind a dumpster on a funky street on the far side of the city from the airports. Yeah, right.

It was weird because this was 30 years ago, before the 'net, 900 numbers, phone sex and all that.

Not having learned my lesson, I shortly thereafter placed an ad to sell my saxophone in the same paper. Lou Reed’s Walk on the Wild Side was a hit at the time, so I started my add with, “Hey Babe, take a walk on the wild side.” And then I gave the particulars of the instrument and the asking price. What you have to remember is that this was long before personal ads were what they are today, and, it was in the Musical Instruments section.

Being, as I was at that time, rather on the move, I asked my Mom to take the calls at her place. I never got any of 'em, but Mom related several conversations with those who had read a little more into the ad. You can thank me later, Mom.

When I lived in Austin, my roommate and I moved and got a new phone number. Most of our friends got it just fine and all, or most, was well. But we started getting a lot of wrong number calls for Hector Garcia* and family

After a couple of weeks of that, I got a call:

Caller: Hello, is this Ringo?

Me: Yeah, who’s this?

Caller: This is Hector Garcia - have there been any calls for me?

Me: A bunch, pal, what’s the deal?

Caller: Is this XXX-XXXX?

Me: Yeah, that’s my phone number.

Caller: Well, it’s mine, too. You need to call Dave.

Me: Tell Angie to call Enrique. What are we going to do?

He said he’d deal with the phone company (there was only one at the time); we’d both been assigned the same number.


You get a call like this, and didn’t follow up on it? Of all the guys’ doors opportunity knocks on, and you don’t answer the door? :smack:

Transmogrify yourself back 30 years, and go back to do it all over again. Trust me.

Dude, their in uniform. Like rrrrowwrrrrrr!

A few days after my grandmother shot the rabbit that was always eating the plants in her garden, she kept getting answering machine messages from someone named “Mr. Bunny” who was always asking “is my youngun over there? You just send him on home now.” :stuck_out_tongue:

Tripler, pal, yeah, no shit it was enticing. But…, it was a hit, and the smart folk fail to attend those.

Funny story, ** Daowajan**

Some time back when I was a sophmore in high school, I went and checked the messages on my mother’s answering machine. In a sexy, southern female voice:

“Hi, Seraphim, it’s Stacy. I see ya not in right now, but next time we meet, we’ll fuck. I’ll cya. Bye!”

Wait–did I hear that right? I quickly rewound and played it again. Yes, she really said “we’ll fuck.” Yowsa!

Jackpot, you may be thinking. But then the horror of the situation set in: I didn’t know anyone named Stacy, and the message didn’t leave a number! I racked my brain trying to think of anyone with that name, even consulting the class rolls at high school–in vain.

What makes it more confusing is that are family had just moved into the area and our phone number still wasn’t listed.

So who was Stacy? How did she know me? How did she know my number?? These questions plague me to this day. Sigh…

I got a phone number that was once owned by a drug dealer.

I got lots of weird calls at 3am

My wife ended up playing with them. Saying “yeah, I got some. Come on down”

Most bizarre wrong number was a phone call I received about 20 years ago from my mother.

Usual “hi, how are you”, “hi, how are the kids, the weather etc” conversation.

About 15 minutes into the phone call, mum asked about something (she was going senile for sure, cos the question made no sense whatsoever), which led me to ask her for clarification.

Turned out that I’d been talking to an absolute stranger for 15 minutes without either of us realising it - guess mothers and daughters all over the world have essentially the same conversations. :slight_smile:

I was in the home of a friend of mine when he got a call from the Democratic National Convention, looking for cash. Not a crank call or a wrong number, but I think his response was funny enough to include it here:

[classic Army Drill Instructor/Tightass NCO voice]
Do you know who I am? This is a nuclear missile silo! Only three people in the world know this number! Now, you get off the line now or I will personally track you down and kick your ass!
[/classic Army Drill Instructor/Tightass NCO voice]

The DNC hasn’t bothered us since. :smiley:

You see, that works in Montana. The joke wouldn’t work in Ohio or Hawaii, but it works in Montana.

-Derleth, who lives a little north of Malmstrom AFB.

Just an addendum: I do get the occasional wrong number, but it’s usually people who sound like Rocky Boy (a reservation just south of me) residents asking for rides home.

I live far enough south of Havre to share a prefix with Rocky Boy residents, so that explains it.