I am NOT Andrew.
There is this 40-ish to 50-year old lady who has been calling my mobile asking for Andrew. The first few times when she called, I said, "Sorry aunty, I think you got the wrong number."
Few weeks later, she called for Andrew again. Multiple times. I took a deep breath and said as nicely as I could muster,"Aunty, there is NO Andrew here. You called the wrong number."
Auntie called again a month later. "Can you please check the number before you call? This is NOT Andrew's mobile." I could almost hear myself losing my cool.
"Aunty! This is my number, NOT Andrew's number! Please don't call me anymore looking for Andrew because there is no such person!" said an exasperated me, a few months later to the persistent Aunty. I have really lost it this time.
Early this year, she called again. The moment I picked up, I tried to use my most menacing mafia voice ever and growled,"You have called this number many, many, many times! How many times must I tell you that you've got the wrong number? I am NOT Andrew ok? Don't call this number again!"
The calls stopped after that.
I was in a conversation yesterday afternoon, having a fruitful discussion with an old friend. The phone rang. In a swift reflex motion, I answered it with my chirpy voice, "Heh-llo"?
"Eh elo....Is Andrew there?"
It's the Return of The Aunty.
It's been two years now, and she's still calling my bloody number looking for her bloody Andrew. I want to tighten my fingers around Andrew's neck so much.
The little red devil with the forked tail in me really wanted to scream at her, and asked her why da hell she keeps calling the same number looking for the same idiot when I have told her umpteen times that she had got it wrong.
I wanted to yell and shake her and insist that she writes her stupid Andrew's name and REAL phone number on the wall in blood and get herself a phone that has number pad dials as big as her bedroom.
I even wanted to threaten to sue her for harassing me, though I have a nagging feeling that she simply kept dialling the wrong number due to dementia.
Sigh.
"Wrong number." My voice came out flat and emotionless, and I hung up the phone almost the same time I said it. The little white angel with fluffy wings has won the battle.
Somehow, I knew the phone would ring again. Someday.
There is this 40-ish to 50-year old lady who has been calling my mobile asking for Andrew. The first few times when she called, I said, "Sorry aunty, I think you got the wrong number."
Few weeks later, she called for Andrew again. Multiple times. I took a deep breath and said as nicely as I could muster,"Aunty, there is NO Andrew here. You called the wrong number."
Auntie called again a month later. "Can you please check the number before you call? This is NOT Andrew's mobile." I could almost hear myself losing my cool.
"Aunty! This is my number, NOT Andrew's number! Please don't call me anymore looking for Andrew because there is no such person!" said an exasperated me, a few months later to the persistent Aunty. I have really lost it this time.
Early this year, she called again. The moment I picked up, I tried to use my most menacing mafia voice ever and growled,"You have called this number many, many, many times! How many times must I tell you that you've got the wrong number? I am NOT Andrew ok? Don't call this number again!"
The calls stopped after that.
I was in a conversation yesterday afternoon, having a fruitful discussion with an old friend. The phone rang. In a swift reflex motion, I answered it with my chirpy voice, "Heh-llo"?
"Eh elo....Is Andrew there?"
It's the Return of The Aunty.
It's been two years now, and she's still calling my bloody number looking for her bloody Andrew. I want to tighten my fingers around Andrew's neck so much.
The little red devil with the forked tail in me really wanted to scream at her, and asked her why da hell she keeps calling the same number looking for the same idiot when I have told her umpteen times that she had got it wrong.
I wanted to yell and shake her and insist that she writes her stupid Andrew's name and REAL phone number on the wall in blood and get herself a phone that has number pad dials as big as her bedroom.
I even wanted to threaten to sue her for harassing me, though I have a nagging feeling that she simply kept dialling the wrong number due to dementia.
Sigh.
"Wrong number." My voice came out flat and emotionless, and I hung up the phone almost the same time I said it. The little white angel with fluffy wings has won the battle.
Somehow, I knew the phone would ring again. Someday.
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