Wrong number...yes, I'm sure

Have you ever wanted to punch someone you didn't even know? Or that you hadn't ever even seen?

I experienced this weird phenomenon a few weeks ago when I got the wrong number phone call from hell.

When you call a wrong number, there's a protocol to be observed. Apologize, then hang up. If you want to be thorough, you can try to announce the number you were calling. While being mildly annoying, this could keep you from calling the wrong number again, so it's ultimately acceptable. This isn't hard...which makes me wonder how the woman who called me managed to screw it up with such ease.

For your reading pleasure, I give you...the wrong number from hell (or why I wish you could punch through a telephone)

Me: Hello?
Her: Yes, I'm calling for Danny.
Me: I'm sorry, you have the wrong number.
In a perfect world, I would have hung up here. Sigh.

Her: No, this is the right number. He must be there.
Me: Nope, this is my cell phone. I assure you, there is no Danny here.
Short of taking a lie detector and mailing her a sworn affidavit, I'm not sure how I can be more clear.

Her: He must have called from your phone.
Yes, I regularly loan my cell phone out to random crazies in the Library. Mainly so I can talk to awesome people like you!

Me: M'am, I'm at work. I've had my phone on my desk for the last 6 hours. No one called you from this phone.
Her: Well this is the number that showed up on my phone. I just hit redial. You called me. Where's Danny? Why are you covering for him?
What. The. F.

At this point, I chose to cut the woman off and just hang up. She's probably still stewing over my attempts to keep her from her rightful return phone call to Danny.

It's days like this that make me think I'm crazy bait.

Photo source

My life is bizarre.

1. I just got a phone call from some random number. When I answered, all the guy would say was, "What's up, buttface?" Then he hung up on me.

2. I got a facebook message from a 60-year-old man I don't know that said nothing but, "What a nice picture." I suppose the only appropriate response is thanks?

3. I got 3 more emails from my fake husband. You remember him, don't you? This time he let me know that our son had a basketball game, that he was taking our son to a haunted house this weekend, and then he sent me his online itinerary for his flight in two weeks. I'm starting to think the only way I can get him to stop emailing me will be to book a seat next to him on that flight and explain in detail that he's not my husband....and that he needs to learn how email addresses work.

I would say that this day couldn't get weirder, but I think that's just asking the universe to send me a singing candygram from a midget clown stripper.

People suck.

One of my favorite blogs I read is Dooce. This makes me one of millions who read and love Heather Armstrong.

Apparently there are also thousands of people out there who hate her with the passion of a thousand suns. I know when you write in a public setting about your personal life that you are opening yourself up to criticism, but man, these people are harsh.
Sometimes I'm glad I never have any comments to read because at least no one is telling me that I'm ruining peoples' lives with my pig vomit. (Believe me, that's TOTALLY tame compared to some of the rest of her hate mail.)

What I love about Dooce, however, is that she got tired of keeping all the loony emails to herself and decided to hit her haters where it hurt: by monetizing the hate. It's perfect.

Click through. I promise it will make you feel good about yourself. No matter how crazy you are, you're not that damn crazy!