One of the first things I learned when moving into my house in ’97 was that my phone number confused a lot of people — namely, people trying to call the auto parts store and drug treatment clinic/halfway house, both of which are one digit off of my number and yield no fewer than three wrong number calls per week. You’d think that with my answering “HELLO” and not “Hello, Cheezer’s Pizza!” or the name of some other business, that they’d clue in that they’d called a private residence.
With the house on the market, I answer all calls since it might be a realtor calling to show the house. Yesterday, the Caller ID showed a 415 area code calling, so I picked it up. A woman said she was moving to the Sacramento area from the Bay Area (“This is going well so far,” I’m thinking), and she needs to make an appointment. I said, “OK, when do you want to come over?” She told me she needed to get set up on her regular schedule. “Regular schedule?” I asked, especially confused since she woke me up from a nap that had me in deep REM mode.
Caller: “Yeah, for my (what sounds like “methadone,” but I thought it could be “Metrolist,” the online real estate listings.)
Me: “Excuse me?”
Caller: “Methadone.”
Me: “Methadone?”
Caller: “Yeah, my methodane treatments. When can I start?”
“I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number,” I haughtily replied, clutching my Tiffany pearls, fanning myself with a fine Crane’s notecard, and watching the stock ticker at the bottom of the TV screen. (Actually, not really, I was wearing fleece pj’s and had to wipe the nap-induced drool off my cheek with my sleeve.)
Caller: “Well do you HAVE the right number?”
Me: “Uh…no.”
I could have ended the conversation with asking if she’d like to buy a lovely 3/2 in the Pocket, but instead we simply parted ways with the dial tone. She’d probably low-ball me on the asking price anyway.
So, I turn it over to you, SacRag brethren, do you have any interesting frequent wrong number calls?
The Sac Rag 
This isn’t a wrong number call per se but it’s still wrong. My neighbor is really super duper old and he has a massive drinking problem that results in him wearing nothing but a robe, loosely tied, even when answering the door. But he’s okay. Anyway it used to be a frequent thing for him to get drunk and call me in the evening just to chat. No problem, nothing creepy in the subject matter, but still. Weird to be drunk dialed by a 90-year-old.
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The former owner of my number only stopped continuing to list it and give it to his friends and business contacts (some 6-7 years AFTER I got the number) when I started informing callers that, sadly, he had passed on, may I take a message? I’m suprised you haven’t had more fun with the methadone users & pizza orderes:
“Oh sure! Come on down for your treatment, but we’ve changed hours: We are only open from 9 PM to 5 AM now. We find that it fits our clients’ schedules better. How’s say… 3:15 AM? And bring all your old needles- we have a new exchange program.”
“Ok- a large pepperoini. Oh yeah- You get a free new ‘Mint Jelly’ topping with every pizza with any kind of meat on it. No, you CAN NOT get it without the Mint Jelly. And there is now a Califorina mandated ‘disposal fee’ for the pizza boxes- thats an aditional $3.50, but you get it back if you return the box.”
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