I'll skip my regular intro. You know, the one that starts with me screaming that people are so dumb it makes me want to kill myself out of mercy to my poor brain. Then I go on a rant for about 10 pages. It's the same old stuff.

Anyway, what really gets my goat today is how people deal with wrong numbers. Hey, they happen. Even a really cool person like me can occasionally hit the wrong digit on the keypad. It's not the government switching lines in a conspiracy to confuse us, or the mischief of Mexican gremlins in the power lines, or even the gross incompetence of the phone company. It's just us, fallible, fallible us, hitting a wrong digit or two.

Whenever I'm on the receiving end of a wrong number, I politely point out that no, Michael Rotch isn't here, and this isn't the Royal Canadian Institute of the Study of Anal Sex. The whole process usually takes about 5 seconds.

Apparently, this concept is too difficult for some people.

I've made accidental calls to people who seem to be completely mystified by the operation of the ringy thing on their table. One conversation went more or less like this (the names have been changed to protect the innocent):

Me: Hi, can I speak to Hugh Jass?

Broad on the other end: Who?

Me: Hugh Jass?

Broad: Hugh Jass?

Me: Yeah.

Broad (to someone else): This guy wants to talk to Hugh Jass.

Someone else: Hugh Jass? Who's that?

Broad: I don't know!

After a few minutes, they came to the conclusion that I had the wrong number. 

They sounded Southern, but theur family couldn't POSSIBLY be that big, could it? They may have been slack-jawed rednecks, but how could they not be certain of the names of the occupants of their house? It may be amusing to some, but to me, it was just depressing.

At least they eventually realized that it was a wrong number by themselves. Some people I have to help to make that mental leap.

Dude on the other end: Hello?

Me: Uh, hi. Is this Big Carl's House of Napalm? I'm calling about your thermite sale.

Dude: What?

Me: Is this Big Carl's House of Napalm?

Dude: Big Carl's what?

Me: House of Napalm.

Dude: (Pause) Who?

Me: I think I have the wrong number.

I don't see what's so hard about this. If somebody calls asking for someone you don't know, tell them they have the wrong number! Gee whiz! With the fun of pagers, though, I pay the price for somebody else's wrong numbers.

Me: Hello?

Chick: Who's this?

Me: Uh, Jason. Who's this?

Chick: Did you page me?

Me: Uh, no...

Chick: I have your number on my pager.

Me: Well, I don't know anything about that.

Chick: Are you sure?

Me:  Look, lady, I swear to Christ I didn't page you. I was in the middle of fucking the corpse of my grandmother when you called, and frankly I'd like to get back to it before she gets cold.

So, the bottom line of all this is that if you think someone called you in error, don't be a dipshit about it and frigging say so. Well, unless they sound like a hot member of your preferred gender, Then it's OK to try to keep them on the line.

Hmmm...maybe I have all this trouble with wrong numbers because I sound so hot.

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