Wrong number
My phone rings. “Hello?”
“Um, hi.”
“Um, hi.” I was hoping he’d be an obscene caller.
“I just found your number. Sorry it took so long to get back to you.”
“Can I ask who’s calling?” I was downright gleeful — could it be a potential date?
“Mike.”
“Mike who?” Oh, god, could it have been Hot Mike from dance class? The one who never called, even though I gave him my number?
“Mike … the one with the aromatherapy products.”
*crushed silence*
“Anyway, I was just doing some laundry, and I found your number. Wanted to get in touch and see if you were still interested.”
“Aromatherapy?” Damn it, it wasn’t the Mike I wanted it to be. Fuck.
“Yeah.”
“How’d you get this number?”
“Um, you gave it to me.”
“No, actually, I don’t give out my number to people. What number are you trying to reach?”
“(976.whore.ny)”
“That’s my number, but I suspect someone gave you my number in error. Is there a name written with the number?”
“No, you just scribbled it down on a scrap of paper.”
“Look, it sounds like someone gave you a wrong number. I only give out business cards — I don’t scribble my number on anything.” *Bathroom walls, maybe, but not on papers. Heh*
“No, you gave me your number.”
“Oh, for christ’s sake, I did not. And I’m still not interested in whatever the hell you’re trying to sell.”
“Um. Okay.” *click*
*screams*