Gordon Be Gone!

(My phone number is only two digits off from a local pizzeria’s. I’ve spent my entire life getting occasional wrong-dials from people who accidentally fumbled and hit the wrong number, looking for pizza. One night, it is two am, and our phone rings. I let it go to machine, and am greeted by a rather amusing voicemail from a very drunk man called “Gordon”, who is practically begging for pizza to be delivered to his dorm room at the local college. I try to go back to sleep, but “Gordon” calls back again… and again. On the third call, I answer the phone.)

Me: *groggy* “Look, Gordon… you’re dialing the wrong number. The pizza place’s number is [phone number.]”

Gordon: *slurred speech* “Look, I don’t care… Can you deliver pizzas? Four pepperoni ones? I remember your voice. I got the stromboli from you the other day!”

Me: “No, I just said you’re dialing the wrong number. This is not the pizza place, and I certainly don’t work there.”

Gordon: “Whhhaaattt? Well, then, can you pick me up some pizzas and bring them to me? I’ll pay you $20.”

Me: “No… No, I won’t do that.”

Gordon: *screaming* “You suck and you’re the Ebenezer Scrooge of pizza, a**-hole!”

(Gordon slammed the phone down and didn’t call back. Thankfully.)