Phone etiquette
Hiya sweetie.
It’s a voice I don’t recognize. There’s about one person who might call me up that way, unannounced – my aunt K — and her number is programmed in my cell phone.
This number is one I don’t recognize. But giving her the benefit of the doubt, I say, who is this?
Is Anthony there?
No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.
Click.
The last time I checked, people usually apologized for getting the wrong number. Or alternately argued about it. They don’t usually just hang up.
Not that I wanted to continue a conversation with a woman who called me sweetie though I answered in a woman’s voice, speaking as Anthony.
I get a lot of wrong numbers. Maybe this number has been around for a while. Maybe people just misdial. I do.
Once, I had a guy demand to know why I had called him. I didn’t, I said, with confusion. Yes, you did. Your number came up on my caller ID, he said somewhat belligerently, as if I got satisfaction out of hanging up on strange people. Why did you call me?
Only later did I realize that I remembered misdialing his number, but that I hung up before it even rang.
Recently, I got a random phone call in which the caller wouldn’t believe me. He was asking for a man, XYZ. No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong number. Are you sure? I’m looking for XYZ? Yes, I’m sure. There’s nobody here by that name. Well, this is the number the phone company gave me, he said, in a disbelieving tone, as if I was lying to him to cover for XYZ. No, I’m telling you, you have the wrong number. He still didn’t sound like he believed me, but at least he didn’t call back.
I’ve also taken to answering my phone in a neutral to unfriendly tone if I don’t recognize the number. After complaining about rudeness, it’s perhaps not the best thing to admit that I’m borderline rude when I answer wrong-number calls.
But I’m in the right. I know they’re calling the wrong number. If it’s in the area code I live in, I’m 90 percent sure it’s a wrong number, simply because I don’t know that many people here. Unless it’s a business calling, like the bank or the car dealership. The dentist’s office comes up as unknown, and I don’t answer unknown numbers or private numbers.
I did recently get a call from a legitimate friend, and didn’t have his number programmed, and made him repeat his name because I was almost sure that it was a wrong number. Luckily, I saved myself from embarrassment by recognizing him a moment later. I also wasn’t brusque because the phone number did seem vaguely familiar, and from an area code in my old home region.
I don’t know that I like having my only form of voice communication in easy reach at all times. It’s in my pocket, purse or dresser. It follows me downstairs like one of my cats. I’m afraid of missing calls, or of leaving it behind, but nobody calls me except belligerent or rude wrong-number callers.
It’s weird to come home at night and not check for the blinking of an answering machine light. Now my answering machine is in my pocket.
I also find myself answering the cell phone more. I used to not answer numbers I didn’t recognize, period. But now I know that more places will be calling me; I don’t have the in-built buffer of a landline to give to the dentist or bank.
But I still don’t get a lot of phone calls just for me. Maybe for Anthony, maybe from someone I can’t understand, speaking Spanish.
I’m bad at calling people myself, keeping in touch. I’d like to get better. My time zone and work schedule hamper me. But I’d love to start using some of my seemingly inexhaustible minutes. I’d like to use just half of them one month. But I’d have to talk constantly. Maybe to the complete strangers who calll the wrong number. Maybe to automated phone mazes as I scream for the tenth time, I just want to talk to a real person.
I just want to talk to you. On Fridays and Saturdays, anyway. The days when I’m not working, where I have no excuse to not talk to you. Give me a call. I’m sure I’ve got my phone around here somewhere.
But no wrong numbers.
We don’t get many wrong numbers on our cell, but you are right, people can be rude. They hang up on you, they don’t believe you. I’ve had the disbelief happen on more than one occasion. What I hate is when they call back after getting the wrong number! That’s really when the disbelief sets in.
“Are you sure this is the wrong number?”
“No, I’m just a jerk with nothing better to do but sit around waiting for people to call so I can toy with them.”
As for answering machines, I can’t remember when we last had one. It had to be in the late nineties. We’ve been cell phone only for so long, I really can’t remember. Lynn doesn’t even have voice mail on her cell, however. It absolves her of calling anyone back. Anyway, cell phone caller id serves the purpose just as well. If you recognize the number, you call them back; if not, you don’t.
What I find insidious about cell phone use is that I no longer remember any phone numbers except for my own and Lynn’s. If I were stranded somewhere with a payphone, but no cell phone, I’d not be able to call anyone. I don’t know my best friend’s number. I don’t even know my Mom’s phone number. It’s all in the cell, and I don’t have to remember numbers anymore.
I find that I have to take my address book with me when I travel because I am afraid that I’ll have to make a call and I won’t know anyone’s number and my cell would’ve died or something.
but i don’t think i’ve written everyone’s number in there. eeek. i’m dependent on my phone for that, too.
Wrong numbers are irksome. once, in my old apartment on my land line, someone argued, not just for the sake of argument, but as if i could look harder in my apartment and the person they were looking for would just magically appear.
good grief.
Melissa,
We may be traveling this weekend, but please give us a call when you can. We never call anyone either, but we do like to talk when we are graced by a call. Strange, I know. But true. I am a talker…