EDIT: Speaking of unsolicted things, Iliveinmycamera has been beaten with the ban stick for spamming friends’ blogs. Congratulations!
So I don’t like telemarketers, or their ilk. Actually, pretty much anyone who’s not friend or family and has this phone number, and has decided that I want to hear all their exciting offers for cellular phones and internet service. And people who ask for my money- where did they get the idea that I have it to spare? Oh. Right. I said that.
Anyway, This’d be the second day in a row I’ve been awakened by an automated telemarketing call. Those of you who know me know my disdain for such things. I also tend to be cranky when I don’t get enough sleep, and answering the phone to hear a telemarketer or a solicitor doesn’t put me in the best of moods.
Also, in the midst of these unsolicited phone calls, I’ve discovered something: There is another man named Dave Church in Calgary. He has friends in Australia, and a wife named Cara. How do I know this? Allow to me relate the various tales (Other caller’s words are in italics):
A couple of months ago, I get a phone call. Pick it up, answer.
“Is this Dave Church?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to pick out the voice.
“Hey, Dave,” he opens, obviously pleased. “Do you know who this is?”
Alarms start going off in my head. I really don’t know. “I don’t,” I admitted, a little suspicious. “Who is this?”
“It’s Danny,” he responds enthusiastically, as if having just found a childhood friend.
Hearing the name, I immediately ran down the options in my head.
I know no fewer that six people named ‘Dan’. Only two go by ‘Danny’. And only one is local, and has my number. This isn’t him. I talked to him a few days ago, and I know his voice. He wouldn’t get that excited about phoning me. ‘Do I have any old friends named Danny?’ I wonder, mentally wracking my brain for any ones that might try and contact me. “Hey,” I respond politely after an awkward few-second pause, while I try desperately to figure out who this is, and avoid embarassment. It must just be my memory. He WAS looking for Dave Church. But he sounds too old to be a friend of mine. “How are you doing?”
“Doing well,” he responds… I think by this point he was starting to figure out that he didn’t recognize my voice either. “I’m calling from Austrailia.”
That clinched it. I didn’t know this man, and I had to cut the charade before I embarassed myself further. “Sorry, I really don’t know who this is,” I admitted, apologetic.
A pause. “Is this Dave Church of Calgary?”
“That’d be me,” I deadpanned.
“David Johnathan Church?” (actually not sure what the middle name was- I just know it wasn’t mine)
There it was. He was looking for someone else. “I’m afraid not,” I responded, relief apparent in my voice. A wrong number. A catastrophically wrong number.
So we shared a laugh about the whole thing as he related how he’d looked up his friend named ‘Dave Church’ on the internet, and thought he’d found him when I’d answered in the affirmative to his question of, “Is this Dave Church?”
We laughed a little more, and I bade him good luck in his search. And I had another story of a wrong number gone… well, wrong.
The next part of this tale is a little more recent- a few days ago, we get a wrong number, as we periodically do. Someone asking for ‘Cara’- as usual, I didn’t pay it any heed at the time. But yesterday, the tale continued.
About 6:30ish, if memory serves, the three of us are in the kitchen, discussing supper options. Alex starts making it as we opine to Dennis of our tales of online Settlers (thanks to Graeme and Mike for the various hookups, though we use Graeme’s).
Anyway, while we’re regaling Dennis with tales of victory and woe (mostly the latter- Alex played 3 games with one player, and he/she managed to cut him off in two of them) the phone rings. I pick it up, answer.
“Hello, is this Dave Church?”
It most definitely is. “This is him,” I responded. Not recognizing the voice (foreign, and female, to be certain- her English was a little off), I added, “To whom am I speaking?”
“Mr. Church, there is something I need to speak with you about… is your wife named Cara?”
Confusion. Alex and Dennis are still in the room. “I’m not married,” I respond, as they turn and regard me curiously. I imagine I looked more confused than they did. I flashed back to the wrong number from a few days ago, where they were asking for Cara. So that was explained as well.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Church. We must have the wrong number.”
‘That’s a first. They say it before I do,’ I thought. I’m not sure how I finished the conversation, but it didn’t last long after that. After I hang up the phone, I turned to Alex and Dennis and asked, “Am I married?” which did, of course, lead to a veritable cadre of set-ups and one-liners that happen occasionally when the three of us are in one room and not talking about food or playing games.
Though I still hate telemarketers and solicitors. No- telemarketing and soliciting. Hate the sin, not the sinner.
Well, I can try.