Tuesday at the Hacienda

Now that telemarketers have stopped calling — for the most part, anyway; that do-not-call list actually has worked for us — my favorite phone moments involve recurring wrong numbers. For a long time, we had a guy who’d call and say, “Hi. Is Victoria there?” He kept calling and saying exactly the same thing in the same tone of voice long after it was obvious that the voices he was hearing at our number had no connection to Victoria. On the other hand, he must have been getting in touch with Victoria sometimes and then occasionally misdial and get us. He has moved on.

The last few days, someone has wrong-dialed us twice. Our exchanges have been brief. I answer in my usual cheerful general American way: “Hello?” The first time, I got a confused snort in return; it was enough of a vocalization that I’d guess the caller was an older woman; she hung up immediately after her flustered snuffle. Today she called again. “Hello?” This time the snort sounded a little incensed. “I think you have the wrong number.” Another offended-sounding huff, and then she hung up.

I’m looking forward to our next talk.

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