I ended up calling her and explaining to her who I was and why I was calling. I told her if she gave me the name of her friend I would look up the number for her so she could get her to come visit her. She said “But this is the number I call her at all the time!”, then she recited my phone number. I told her that it was mine and I would help her find her friend if she would like. She finally decided she could be wrong and gave me the name. I looked it up and she was one number off. I read it to her and she got quiet and then she apologized. I told her it wasn’t a problem. I just wanted to help. Wishing her a speedy recovery, we hung up.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Several weeks ago I got home from work and listened to the messages on my answering machine. There were several from the same person, and at first I couldn’t understand her. She had a very strong Brooklyn accent, and although I grew up with those accents, coming from an unfamiliar voice made it a little less decipherable. I did decipher it, however, and this woman was calling from a hospital, where she had just been admitted, and wanted her friend to call her back as soon as she got the message.
This has happened to me before. Not the messages but a wrong number caller. There’s a little old lady who had a stroke some time ago, in the next town over, who calls once in a while. Her eye site is going and she can’t see the numbers so well. Sometimes she’ll ask for someone, sometimes she will just start talking. This is how I learned Robin Williams took his own life. She called and very quickly told me what she had just seen on CNN, that she couldn’t talk right now, but we would talk later. Then she said good bye and we hung up. I didn’t see the point of telling her she had the wrong number. What good would it have done?