I’ve worked in the same job for almost five years, repeating the same things over and over again, so much so that I’ve perfected my phone voice.

Every now and again, customers may confuse me with cold callers as we sometimes need to call customers back who are having issues. Sometimes, I also get confused for a computer or robot instead of a person.

What is new is that when I asked a customer to tell me her date of birth the other day, instead of telling me, she started hitting numbers on her phone! It took me a few seconds to process what she was doing, and she was quite embarrassed when I asked her to tell me out loud.

The rest of the call went smoothly, though!

Back in the 1990s, when only the police and 911 dispatch had caller ID, one of the most popular ways teenagers and adults with no lives would annoy strangers would be to call them and either sit and not say anything, ask for someone who didn’t live there, or call and immediately hang up.

At one point in time, these calls seriously became a nuisance to our home where every day, at 7:00 am sharp, someone would call and say nothing, and then at 4:30 pm sharp, they would call and ask for a “Sherry Slone.” Every… freaking… day. Picking up the phone and yelling, “F*** OFF!” did nothing but tickle the person pink and encourage them to call more often.

Then, my dad found a rather interesting solution.

Caller: “Hello, is Sherry Slone there?”

My dad pulled my science book out of my lap.

Dad: “Mitosis, a process of cell duplication, or reproduction, during which one cell gives rise to two genetically identical daughter cells. Strictly applied, the term mitosis is used to describe the duplication…”

The caller hung up. The next morning, they called again and my mother answered. They were silent.

Mom: “Oil painting is a hobby that requires both skill and patience. The supplies that I prefer using is a standard X size brush made out of—”

The caller hung up.

And surprise, all the calls stopped.

I’m chatting with my sister on the phone about the global health crisis. Unfortunately, I’ve been distracted by video games lately, particularly one where you play as an assassin.

Sister: “And there are some businesses that require a vaccine or else you can be terminated.”

Me: “Wow, that’s a little extreme.”

Sister: “What?”

Me: *Realization dawning* “Other kind of ‘terminated’. Right. Sorry.”

Sister: *Jokingly* “Either way, I guess you’re getting shot.”

I’m texting a friend.

Me: “Hey, man, sorry I missed your call. I was running.”

Friend: “Running? From whom?”

Me: “Uh… my winter weight?”

Friend: “Okay, fair enough.”

One of the few rules set in stone when we were young was: don’t drink and drive and don’t get in a car with a drunk driver. To enable us to stick to the rule, especially the latter part, my parents accepted the fact that they sometimes had to act as a taxi; we lived in a rural area with limited service by public transport and none whatsoever after 9:00 pm. This was a time before cell phones and when public phones were still plenty.

Two of my brothers had asked my parents one New Year’s Eve to collect them after the party. No curfew was given, and as my parents did not expect my brothers to call before early morning, they went to bed after welcoming the New Year. They were awoken in the early morning by fumbling at the door and my dad went to investigate. To his surprise, my brothers tumbled inside. When they made their next appearance, a few hours later and carefully nursing a hangover, my father got curious and inquired as to why they hadn’t called for him to come and pick them up.

Brother: *A bit sulky* “We did call! Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

Dad: *Surprised* “But we never received a call. It was quiet all night until you tried to fit the key in the door.”

Those that were home that night confirmed that no phone call had disturbed the peace of the night. This went on a bit, to and fro, my brother insisting he called, my dad insisting that no call came through.

Dad: “So you called. Did you call the correct number?”

Brother: *Indignant* “Of course, I did.”

He recited the number while mimicking composing the number on a push dial.

Brother: “…five, six.” *Moving his finger downward*

Dad: “Wait. Can you do that again?”

My brother repeated himself with exaggerated movements, again going down from five to six.

Dad: “So you did five, six?”

He repeated the same downward motion.

Brother: “Yes!”

Dad: “That is not six you dialed but eight.”

Brother: “No way! But it rang!”

And yes, he did check the placement of the numbers on our extension. 

Dad: “Luckily, nobody was home. A nice night they would have with you calling them again and again, thinking you called home!”

We had a good laugh about it and my brothers had a nice walk home. It was about an hour in normal conditions, but the road they had to take was a dangerous one on foot (no sidewalk) and at night. Still, they arrived in one piece and probably walked off some of the alcohol, and we have one more tale to tell.