You know it’s a small town when you dial a wrong number and recognize the voice on the other end of the line. But what do you do when someone calls the wrong number, and you talk for five minutes before recognizing the mistake?
That’s what happened to me. I wasn’t the one who made the call, but I felt pretty silly, anyway.

It was one of those mornings, two calls – both telemarketers. The phone rang again around noon. The caller told me her first and last name and asked if Russ was here. Telemarketers do that sometimes, give you a first and last name, hoping you’ll believe they are nice people who want to make sure the siding is still on your house.

It kind of threw me when the caller asked for Russ. My son, Russell, is in his thirties and hasn’t lived here since high school. I didn’t know what to say. “Russ is grown up and gone,” I told her.
“Well, I guess you’ll be my contact then,” she said. She was talking about some type of membership, and none of it made any sense to me. I almost hung up on her before I remembered the sign company in Idaho.

That company has the same telephone number as we do, except for the area code. Last spring I learned the sign company has an employee named Russ.

“I have a son named Russ, and the sign company has an employee named Russ. Maybe you dialed the wrong area code,” I told her. (She had, of course.) I hung up thinking, I don’t suppose that company wants me telling folks their employees are “grown up and gone.”

There’s only one way to avoid this type of mix-up. The first thing we should say when we call someone is: “Who is this?”

That would have helped the woman who described an incident to me years ago. She had school-age children and was concerned about a new testing program in the schools.

Local officials told her and other parents the testing program was state-mandated. The only way to make changes was to convince state officials it was a bad idea.

This woman decided to make an appointment with the state superintendent of schools. She called the state office and talked with the secretary, Debbie. After four of five weeks of calling and no luck in getting an appointment, this was a frustrated mom.
Finally, she decided to get tough. She called again, and Debbie answered. The parent identified herself and said, “Look Debbie, I don’t understand why you can’t get me in. I keep getting the runaround. I just need to get in.”

Debbie said, “What?”

“I’m getting tired of waiting,” the parent said. “I don’t see why you can’t get me in.”

Finally, Debbie asked, “Who are you trying to call?”

“The state superintendent of schools,” she answered.

“Hold on, I’ve gotta tell the other girls,” this Debbie said. After considerable laughter in the background, Debbie came back on the line.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “You’ve dialed a wrong number. This is the State Penitentiary!”

Readers with questions or comments for Roger Pond may write to him in care of this publication.