Hello, Hal?
This is Mark Martin… any messages for me?
Archaic analogue phone commands, eh? I find that hard to believe unless you have an archaic analogue phone system. Which is quite possible.
A few jobs ago, the prefix to my desk phone started with 562 which is also the area code for Long Beach, CA. So my phone number was something like 805-562-ABCD. The Department of Fish and Game’s phone number for all of their few hundred extentions started with the numbers 562-ABCD so were like 562-ABC-DXXX.
On a cell phone you don’t have to dial a “1” first on numbers out of your area code but you do on a land line and it slips people’s minds. So I would get two to three calls a week from someone in my area code trying to call one of the Fish and Game extensions. Most of the time I’d tell then that they forgot to punch in the “1” first and they’d apologize and that would be the end of it. More than a few times people would argue with me insisting that they did dial the “1”. WTF? That’s the only way that they could have reached me.
I used to have great fun with wrong numbers - inviting the caller over for a party, “taking messages” for people I’ve never heard of, etc. Until someone caught an early flight and was waiting at the old Stapleton Airport for a ride. “No kidding, you’re here already? We’re on our way!” ha ha. :rolleyes:
Poor bastard called back several times over the course of the day and me being 15 at the time, I just stopped answering the phone. The messages got really desperate towards evening… I stopped doing it after that.
If you were stranded at Stapleton in 1983 and thought your friends were on the way but they never showed up, that was me… Sorry.
Mark Martin has been a thorn in my family’s side for about 20 years. Why just this past New Years Eve my brother had to take him to the ground to convince him he needed to go sleep it off in his car and no, he would not be given his keys.
I worked in an office that was one digit off the Venezuelan airline. Not only did the callers not speak english, but they for some reason, thought I had nothing better to do than lie to them. I had someone write out “you have the wrong number” phonetically for me, which did more harm than good, because then they thought I spoke spanish. For the record, 29 years later “numero aqui vo ka tho”
Whoever had my cell phone last is pharmacy and doctor hopping and had her sig other arrested for domestic violence. I had to have Walgreens disallow her to use my cell phone in their system. (5 different pharmacies in 2 counties called to say my script was filled)
In the '80s as an undergrad I worked for Budget Rent-A-Car in a town where the main music store was Budget Tapes & Records (Records – that should date the story).
So we got calls all the time from people who not only apparently just mindlessly dialed the first “Budget” named business in the phone book, but also didn’t listen to the greeting when we answered, which was “Budget Rent-A-Car, may I help you?”
So we messed with them all the time:
ME: Budget Rent-A-Car, may I help you?
CALLER: Do you have the new tape by Def Leppard, Pyromania?
ME: Why, yes I do.
CALLER: How many copies do you have?
ME: Oh, just one. I don’t think I need more than one.
CALLER: No, how many copies do you have in stock?
ME: Oh. None. None in stock here at Budget RENT-A-CAR.
CALLER: When do you think you’ll be getting some in?
ME: . . . .
ME: Tomorrow. But only if you’re at the door when we open, which is 6 a.m. And if you mention the secret word “fiddlesticks” you’ll get 25% off!
One Sunday afternoon a few years back, my wife and I were enjoying the peace and quiet, when our phone rang.
Wife: Hello?
Caller: Is Steve there?
Wife: Sorry, you have a wrong number.
Caller: Are you sure? You sound like Megan.
Wife: Nope, I’m not Megan, and this isn’t Steve’s place.
Caller: Are you sure?
Wife: Yes, I’m sure.
Caller: Good, because Steve is a JERK!
<Click>
One other call, not as odd, and a lot more scary. Keep in mind that this man is really stressed, talking as fast as he can, not taking a breath.
<Ring>
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hey, man, I’m glad your home. I’m really afraid I’m about to do something stupid. Lisa just called; she busted my balls, man. I mean REALLY busted my balls. She wants all of the back child support and next month’s right now.
Me (having no clue who this is or what they want from me): OK, so what are you going to do?
Caller: What I really want to do is got out and get hammered. I mean really lit up. Where am I gonna come up with 7k, man? I can’t get that kind of cash. I just… I can’t take this pressure. That bitch knows i’m in rehab, and she’s just trying to get me to drink so I go back to jail. Right, man? I mean, if I mess this up, I’m gonna spend years in prison, right?
Me: Um…probably?
Caller: Right. That’s what the judge said. I can’t let her get to me. Look, any chance I can come over and hang out for a while. If I stay here, I’ll get drunk and do something stupid, and go back to jail. I can’t do that, man.
(I spent 20 minutes on the phone with this man, trying to talk him down enough to get his sponsor’s name and number, so I could get someone who could help him.) Finally after all this, and he’s calmed down a bit:
Caller: Thanks, Jack. I really appreciate all your help.
Me: I’m not Jack. You dialed a wrong number.
Caller: I did? You’re not Jack? I just spent a half hour talking to some stranger? Damn, man, you’re pretty good at this stuff. Look, I’m really sorry…
Me: No problem. You sounded like you needed someone to talk with. I’m glad I could help.
Caller: Thanks! I’ll hang on to your number in case I need it again!
<Click>
ME: ???
Eli
My father in law had a number that was one off from the local humane society. At first, he would patiently try to explain that the caller had the wrong number.
As he was heavily medicated back then, he finally gave up trying to be helpful, and just barked into the phone instead.
I get a few wrong number calls…usually some teenaged boys calling a gal who apparrently gets quite a few dates.
Caller: May I speak to Susie, please?
Me: You’ve got my permission. I suggest you try calling her.
<click>
My Mom’s cell phone was one digit away from the phone number for Beacon Hill Cat Hospital. She occasionally got calls from people insisting that she HAD to make appointments for their cats even though she insisted that she was in no way affiliated wit Beacon Hill or any other Cat Hospital. We always got a good laugh after she hung up.
I had one my freshman year in college. This all happened around 2am on a weekday.
RING
Me: Hello?
Caller: Is Craig there? (Neither I nor my roommate were named Craig.)
Me: No, you have the wrong number.
Caller: Oh click. (“Oh”? How about, “Sorry I woke you up in the middle of the night with a wrong number?”)
One minute passes…
RING
Me: Hello?
Caller: Is Craig there?
Me: No, Craig still doesn’t live here.
Caller: click
Wait for it…
RING
Me: What?
Caller: Do you know what Craig I’m talking about?
Me: Goodbye click.
Obviously I should have gone and researched all of the Craigs on campus on the remote chance that somebody might call in the middle of the night looking for one.
We’ve had our fax number at the bookstore for over four years now, and we still get phone calls for the Ford dealership that used to have the number. When I hear somebody call it repeatedly, I’ll answer the line and very clearly state the name of my bookstore. Then somebody says “Can I have the parts department?” or “Do you have any 2007 F250s in stock?” I’ll say, “no, this is a BOOK store,” and invariably get a response like “You’re not a Ford dealer?”
I’ve taken to asking where people got the number, and there appears to be a dealership directory out there that still lists this defunct dealership with my phone number.
The worst part is the people who call the number, hear the fax tone, and start spamming me with faxes for auto financing or corporate travel.
Oh my god! He really did have to see a man about a dog!
I used to have a phone number that was one digit off from a welfare office.
That sucked. It’s amazing how many people speak without listening at all. “Stop! I can’t help you!”
My new cell phone number apparently used to belong to quite a deadbeat. Every day multiple calls for him or his wife. I’ve managed to get my number of most of the lists, but of course that was on my dime as I waited for supervisors who had the authority to do it.
Edward and Ruth Wachenfeld, please pay your frigging bills.
There’s a switchboard system in the office where I used to work. If you were dialing an internal phone line and mistakenly dialed a non-existent number it would be transferred through to the switchboard. So I would frequenlty get calls from people who were expecting someone else to answer the phone. I’d tell them they had dialed the wrong number and most would agree, hang up, and try again. But a few people would insist that they had dialed the right number. My standard response was, “I don’t know what number you dialed so I can’t say whether it was right or wrong. But the phone thinks you dialed the wrong number and it sent your call to the switchboard.”
I had a job once where I had to answer the phone (never again) and the business’ number was one digit off from a local pharmacy. Every couple of weeks, the same elderly gentleman would call to ask if his prescription was ready. I would kindly explain to him (after looking it up) that he had the wrong number and he should dial xxx-xxxx.
After a dozen or so interations, I started putting him on hold, calling the pharmacy myself, “Is Mr. Smith’s prescription ready? Thanks.” Then I would relay it back to him. He was still calling when I quit that job.
Oh well…that was kind of anti-climactic.
I got busy with work, so I didn’t get a chance to call back until a short time ago. I got the barkeep, and asked if Mark Martin was there. I was told that no, he was over at Frank’s. Guess word got through. 
A few of these responses reminded me of another incident that happened just last week. Our babysitter doesn’t have a home phone – she just uses her cell, which she set up when she lived in California. Thus, it has a 707 area code.
She called our house last week to let us know that her daughter was sick, and so I may not want to send my little girl over to her place for the day. We left it that unless she heard back from me, we would meet at our regular place and time (aside: she lives on a military base, so we meet off-base. It’s a pain for her to bundle up her kid for a five-minute trip, but it’s a bigger pain for me to get security clearance every damn day).
I called my work and took the day off. I found her number on our Caller ID, hit the button, and got the following message:
“Hey, it’s Vanessa. My phone is screwed up and won’t take incoming calls anymore, so I got a new one. The new number is xxx-xxx-xxxx”.
Huh. Well, Ness didn’t mention anything about that to me or my wife, but whatever. I call the new number and leave her a voice mail letting her know that she doesn’t have to meet me.
Can you guess where this is going? Come meeting time, she calls me up wondering just where the hell I am. I tell her about the messages, and the broken phone, and she has no idea what I’m talking about.
Come to find out that, like hajario mentioned, it was all about the “1” before the area code. When I was hitting redial, I wasn’t phoning area code 707, I was phoning local exchange 707-xxxx, getting someone with my babysitter’s name who sounds exactly like her, and causing a misunderstanding of Three’s Companyesque proportions (without anyone thinking someone else was having sex, that is).
I’ve been having the same problem with my new landline. Last October I moved to NC from Chicago, and I kept getting calls from people trying to get in touch with “Karen Lee” regarding “a very important business matter”, usually leaving a toll-free call back number (which means it’s probably a bill collector). So far everyone seems to be willing to take my word that there is no one by that name at my number, but I just got another call the other day, so either she either still has some uncollected bills out there, or some of the people I talked to before are trying again.
I was once given a number that had previously belonged to a woman who had the exact same first and last name as I. Not kidding. Of course, she was a deadbeat who didn’t pay her bills and has some sort of child custody thing going on with Health and Welfare. :rolleyes: I spent ten minutes on the phone with Fingerhut one day trying to convince them that I was not that Jane Doe. I don’t think he ever did believe me.
Growing up our home number was one number off of a local bar. It was always fun to get calls at 1am from little girls wondering where daddy was. 
And Hal’s story is why the North American phone system should require us to dial the area code on all calls, folks!