NaBloPoMo, Day 29
Answering the phone here at work (I’m actually in the office for the first time in weeks) has always involved fielding a slough of wrong numbers. It’s been this way for years–the curse of having an easy to remember phone number with a nice round number on the end. We get a handful of confused callers and hang-ups every day.
Through sloppy dialing, incorrect area codes (the Chicago area alone has four–312, 773, 847, 630), and out-of-date correspondence printed with the wrong phone number, we’ve received calls on a semi-regular basis for a geriatric doctor’s office and a university. We’ve had calls for car repair, dental care, and ancient technology, typewriter repair. My favorites are the callers who keep me on the line arguing about the number they’ve dialed, as if I’m jerking them around just for fun. I’ve had more than a few folks ask me to look up the correct number for them.
Today, I answered what is by far the oddest wrong number in all my thirteen years of answering the company phone. After my standard greeting, the young woman on the other end of the line said, “I need to make an appointment for an abortion.”
Yeah, that sure jerks you out of your work routine.