no, really

You may remember the bizarre story some time ago when Emma and I got new mobile phones, but were unable to keep our existing numbers. It meant that we got 763 prefixes, which is for the northern suburbs of Minneapolis (612 is the prefix for Minneapolis itself). And for some reason it means that we get tons and tons of wrong numbers, to the extent that I just don’t answer if I see a 763 number I don’t recognize appear on the screen – almost all the wrong numbers come from that area code. Maybe it’s because these people don’t know to dial a number properly or something, because living in the suburbs has melted their brains. Occasionally I’ve had incorrectly dialed faxes coming to my machine, which means that I’ve had to send faxes back to the number asking them to stop faxing me – at least caller ID means that I can do this.

Anyway, last week Emma got a call, wrong number, when a woman asked to speak to someone called Missie. Emma told her it was the wrong number, but this woman insisted that it wasn’t. Emma pointed out that no, it was in fact the wrong number and the woman reluctantly said OK and hung up. A few seconds later the same woman rang back, asked for Missie and got quite upset when she was again told that it was the wrong number. Because of course arguing about it would make Missie miraculously materialize. Emma rightly told her that unless she wanted to speak to Andrew, Emma or Toby she really honestly had the wrong number. Five minutes later I took the next call from her and assured her that she so had the wrong number. She called again and Em didn’t answer. She didn’t leave a voicemail.

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