I heard something recently about how this is a “robot” that dials numbers to see if the line is working, to see if anyone answers, etc. Unfortunately I don’t have a cite, but this sort of thing happens a lot at my house. I’ve taken to yelling obscenities into the phone, 'coz who’s afraid of upsetting a robot? Also, I find it cathartic.
Your phone calls are pretty funny/interesting…
Here’s mine…
One evening a woman called on the phone. When I
answered, she asked if her husband was here.
When I get wrong numbers or sales calls, sometimes I have a
dry sense of humor. I answered “I hope not!”. She
asked what I meant by that. I told her that since my
husband was here, that her husband certainly was not.
She asked me if I was sure. I told her yes I was sure
- that one husband was more than enough! LOL She
then asked me if I was secretly dating her husband. I
told her no. She asked if I was sure. I told her I
was sure.
She said she was calling our number because her
husband had just called from our number. I asked her
what number - and she read back our number. I can
only think she misread her caller ID.
I still don’t think she believed me. =:o Man was she
ever insecure!!!
A lot of my friends told me I should have told her I was dating
her husband, but all I could think of was her Googling my phone
number and finding out where I live… :eek:
Oooh! I have one! This happened to me at work years ago, when I shared a desk with a guy on the night shift who had apparently been giving out his work number in some questionable circumstances.
Me: Research, this is caveman
Guy: James?
Me: No, caveman. I can give you his voicemail, though.
Guy: Nah.
-Hang up-
5 minutes later
Me: Research, this is caveman
Guy: James?
Me: No, still caveman, sorry.
Guy: You sure?
Me: Yeah, I work days, and he works at night, starting about 6pm
Guy: This is James, isn’t it?
Me: Really, it’s not. James is a big tall black guy. I’m a stocky round white dude. I am caveman, not James.
Guy: Bullshit, this is James, I know what you doin’!
Me: What?
Guy: I found your number in her purse, I know you be fckin her…
Me: BWA-HA-HA-HA
Guy: I’ll fck you up
Me: You don’t even know where I am, and besides, I’M NOT JAMES!
-Hang up-
later that afternoon
Me: Research, this is caveman
Guy: Mebbe you jus’ told her your name was James
Me: You again?
Guy: Stop messin’ wit my girl
Me: I’m not “messin’” with your “girl”
Guy: I found your number…
Me: Haven’t you heard? I’m not James! I’m sorry your girlfriend is a slut
GUy: Fck you!
Me: Isn’t that why you’re bothering me? Because she’s doing another guy? Well, it’s not me!
Guy: Fck you!
Me: Get it though your head, amigo, I AM NOT JAMES. Now leave me alone.
-Hang up-
I left a message for James on a post-it: “Angry man called for you, something about a girl.”
Here’s an earlier thread on strange phone calls. I contributed post #3 to that discussion.
Long after he graduated from high school, my brother Mark would occasionally get calls from a former classmate named Denise. Although he barely knew her, she somehow managed to dial our number on occasions when she was drunk and/or expressing suicidal thoughts. If I saw her number on the caller ID, I knew that I should just let the phone ring until Denise gave up and aborted the call.
My mother frequently answered calls from some old man who’d ask “Is Virginia there?”
Mom would reply “No.”
He’d say, “Virginia, this is your grandfather.”
“I’m sorry, but both my grandfathers are dead.”
“Listen, young lady, I’m very much alive, and I don’t appreciate being talked to in this way!”
Our number was one digit off from the number for a doctor’s office. Over the years, misdialed requests for Dr.“Long” gave way to calls for Dr. “Anand”, with a couple of other names along the way. Sort of a microcosm of the increasing presence of South Asian physicians in America…
I once saw a blind man dancing a jig in the street.
I tend to be one of those things that make you go huh.
For about the past week, I’ve been the guy waiting for the bus with a lot of luggage and a hunter-green felt octopus mask on a five-foot pole.
Once on the elevated, I become the man muttering to himself as he ties on a black taffeta cape backwards, then puts on a strange frilled black cloak and wraps his arms with long ribbons decorated with odd runes.
Then, I offer any nearby children balloon animals.
It turns out that the performance spot I picked on the street is right in the route for several amphibious tour buses. I alternate between ranting “He waits and dreams in the deep! And the cities of man shall fall before him!” and smiling and waving with my plush Cthulhu.
Very few people, even people going to other Fringe Festival events, approach me or ask what I’m doing. A significant percentage of people do attempt to take my photograph without my noticing.
There is one aspect of all this that makes me go huh. Occasionally when I’m not in costume but displaying the Cthulhu head, somebody will see me and shout “Go Eagles!”. How exactly does somebody mistake an octopus head for an Eagle head?
Got home from work 14 hours later – someone picked it up and propped it against my fence. Where it still sits.
A phone call I got once:
Me: Hello?
Random Dude: Hello?
Me: Helloooo?
RD: Awww, it’s some WHITE lady!
It was hilariously funny, the way he said it. So disappointed. I didn’t know I sounded so obviously white.
When i got my current cell phone about 1.5 years ago i’d start to get random calls from various people looking for some person named “Cowboy” after about 3 months the calls slowed down to maybe once a week instead of 3-4 times, and then they stopped for a while until about a month ago when one of the guys that used to call started calling looking for this elusive Cowboy again. Needless to say, he was never here, nor do i know who “he” is anyway but since then i’ve had a number of strange 5 minute “wrong number” conversations with the person how i have lovingly namd “cowboy guy” in my cell.
The Village Bike?
If she calls again go get Marsha for her! :wally 
On the bus the other day, I saw a deaf man talking to himself, in sign language.
I admit it makes a certain kind of sense, but I still found it odd.
I have no cite for this, but I was told (by whom, you ask… ) that if one is on the national “do not call” list, and a ligit telemarketer’s comuper dialer hit your number it automaticly hangs up. ?? No idea if this is true or where it came from Maybe I dreamed it…
How about "“Tonya can’t come to the phone right now, she’s under my desk with my dick in her mouth”?
ZING!
Yeah, except I live in a major city. In a residential neighborhood, so not the meanest of streets, but still!
My parent’s number iss one digit off the second line at a local vet clinic (published number, though). The really funny part was that I worked at that clinic.
One day, phone rang, I answered and someone was asking about puppies and when they should be vaccinated and dewormed and spayed and all that. I answered all the questions, told her to have a nice day, hung up…and then realized that I was standing in my parents kitchen and that it had been a wrong number.
I was still wearing my scrubs though.
Well, duh. Cthulhu is one of the ancient evils of the universe, while the Eagles are one of the ancient evils of the NFL. Easy to get mixed up.
Go Cowboys!
Yup, somewhere there is an idiot looking for his bike. The Village idiot. 
Low income housing in Austin has been giving its clients our business number as an available apartment complex for the last 5 years.
I’ve complained-loudly-to no avail.
I’ve also memorized the number to the actual apartments (it’s one digit off) and am happy to give callers the correct number.
However, I had a classic encounter recently:
Ring, ring, ring
Caller: Is this the Everhart apartments?
Me: Nope, you’ve been given the wrong number. Here’s the correct one 555-5551.
Caller: Are you postive? (She’s getting testy, I can tell)
Me: Postive. This is a PC business. Have a nice day.
Click.
Pretty normal thus far, heh?
But wait, it gets better.
Ring, ring, ring again :
Caller: Is this the Everhart apartments.
Me: No-you just called and I gave you the right number. Sorry, but I’m on the line with a client. Please dial the number I gave you. Good bye.
Click.
Ring, ring, ring again :
Caller: (She’s yelling into the phone now) I want to talk to your manager-right now!
Me: I am the manager.
Caller: Then let me speak to the owner-right now!
Me: Errr- I am also the owner (it’s a small business). Now what’s the problem? I’ve already given you the correct number.
Caller: (at full decibel level) You are the rudest person I’ve ever spoken to-I’m going to call the Better Business Bureau and report you. You hung up on me twice.
Me: (totally out of patience) Go ahead-let’s make it a conference call-ok?
I can’t wait to hear you complain because you dialed the wrong number, I gave you the right one and now you’re pissed because I didn’t stay on the phone and chat with you?
That would be the best laugh I’ve had all day.
Click.
This makes no sense at all. If the computer has access to the DNC list it should be smart enough to not call the number in the first place.