George of the (urban) jungle
The best feature of my cell number, which I have had since 2001 mind you, is that I have a number that is eerily similar to one belonging to a man named George.
If you transpose the last two numbers, and you're trying to call George, you get me. You see, "G" as he is affectionately called by his peeps, gets calls to meet him at the gas station. At 2:30 a.m. Every night of the week. Sometimes, his callers get a little insistent. Like calling eight times in four minutes.
Now this G, he's a popular fellow. Gets lots of calls. From lots of different numbers. I can only imagine how many people are correctly dialing his digits if I get this many wrong numbers.
I can only imagine why G needs to meet these people in the middle of the night. Maybe he has a gas credit card that he uses to buy nice people gas. Or maybe he's the night manager and they need the safe opened. OR MAYBE HE'S A FREAKING DRUG DEALER.
There have been many nights, after I have been awakened with a random wrong number vibrating the phone off the table next to my bed, that I have been tempted to call George myself and tell him to have his people get the damn number right.
Josh is unhelpful. At first he thought it was funny, but then he started getting annoyed every time I complained about it and asked why I didn't just change my number already? Because I refuse to back down and let G win! Damnit, I should start filling his orders on my own. I could be rich.
There have even been some callers who didn't believe it was the wrong number. No, really, I am not G. I do not know G. I certainly am NOT G's woman. YOU HAVE THE WRONG FREAKING NUMBER ASSHOLE.
Josh also wants to know why I keep answering the phone. The short answer is that outside of the middle-of-the-night ones, which I now ignore, I have no idea. He points out that if it really was for me, they would leave a message.
I think the real reason is something that Jen Lancaster pointed out at her recent book signing. When you're a writer, you find yourself in these insane situations that normal people would walk away from. But as a writer, you stay just to see how it's going to turn out because it's material!
So for you, my readers, I will continue to answer the wrong numbers and see if perhaps some of G's friends might like to peruse a Mommy Blog.
If you transpose the last two numbers, and you're trying to call George, you get me. You see, "G" as he is affectionately called by his peeps, gets calls to meet him at the gas station. At 2:30 a.m. Every night of the week. Sometimes, his callers get a little insistent. Like calling eight times in four minutes.
Now this G, he's a popular fellow. Gets lots of calls. From lots of different numbers. I can only imagine how many people are correctly dialing his digits if I get this many wrong numbers.
I can only imagine why G needs to meet these people in the middle of the night. Maybe he has a gas credit card that he uses to buy nice people gas. Or maybe he's the night manager and they need the safe opened. OR MAYBE HE'S A FREAKING DRUG DEALER.
There have been many nights, after I have been awakened with a random wrong number vibrating the phone off the table next to my bed, that I have been tempted to call George myself and tell him to have his people get the damn number right.
Josh is unhelpful. At first he thought it was funny, but then he started getting annoyed every time I complained about it and asked why I didn't just change my number already? Because I refuse to back down and let G win! Damnit, I should start filling his orders on my own. I could be rich.
There have even been some callers who didn't believe it was the wrong number. No, really, I am not G. I do not know G. I certainly am NOT G's woman. YOU HAVE THE WRONG FREAKING NUMBER ASSHOLE.
Josh also wants to know why I keep answering the phone. The short answer is that outside of the middle-of-the-night ones, which I now ignore, I have no idea. He points out that if it really was for me, they would leave a message.
I think the real reason is something that Jen Lancaster pointed out at her recent book signing. When you're a writer, you find yourself in these insane situations that normal people would walk away from. But as a writer, you stay just to see how it's going to turn out because it's material!
So for you, my readers, I will continue to answer the wrong numbers and see if perhaps some of G's friends might like to peruse a Mommy Blog.
Labels: It's all about me
posted by Amy at
8:16 PM
1 Comments:
what a funny story. I think you should call G too and tell his people to get the number straight!
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